Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 112

Chapter 112

No. Absolutely not!

Emma fought back with every ounce of strength she had left. Her only weapon now was her teeth.

She bit down hard on his shoulder, using all her might. Finally, she felt his grip loosen. Wrenching herself free, she tried to twist away, but the bed was so small that Theodore tumbled straight off the edge and hit the floor with a loud thud.

Emma sat up, gasping for breath. She looked over and saw him sitting on the floor, staring up at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher.

Feeling awkward, she slid off the bed, intending to go sleep with her grandmother instead.

But as soon as her feet touched the ground, he grabbed her wrist in a vise–like grip. His eyes flashed with a dangerous intensity. “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was hoarse, almost menacing.

Emma tried to pull away.

Where else could she possibly go? Did he really think she’d dare stay here after what just happened?

His heavy breathing gradually slowed. “Fine. I won’t touch you.”

When she still seemed ready to bolt, he drew a deep breath. “I promise.”

Just then, sounds came from the hallway–her grandmother was up. “Emmie, is everything alright in there?” came her voice through the door.

“I’m fine, Grandma. I just fell out of bed,” Theodore called out quickly. “The bed’s too small.”

“Well then… Emmie, why don’t you come sleep with me?” Her grandmother sounded worried.

Emma understood–Grandma was looking out for her.

She wanted to slip out and join her, but Theodore’s grip tightened, and his eyes shot her a warning.

After a tense standoff, Theodore spoke in a low voice. “If I say I won’t touch you, I won’t. I’m not the kind of man who forces women.” His pride was unmistakable;

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Chapter 112

Emma knew that about him.

“I just want to talk to you,” he added.

But at this point, she didn’t want to hear a single word he had to say.

“Just sleep. No talking, no touching, nothing,” she said firmly, laying down her terms.

He fell silent.

She couldn’t read his eyes in the dim light, but after a moment, he nodded. “Alright.” He let her go.

Emma went to the door and opened it, letting her grandmother see that everything really was fine. “It’s okay, Grandma. I’ll just stay here and sleep.”

Her grandmother gave her a subtle, searching look: Are you really alright?

Emma smiled. “I’m fine, Grandma. You should get some rest.”

“Grandma, I’d love some buttered noodles for breakfast,” Theodore called from behind her, already up off the floor.

Her grandmother chuckled. “Alright, I’ll make some.” She patted Emma’s hand gently before heading back down the hallway.

Emma closed the door and crawled into bed.

True to his word, Theodore kept his distance after that, lying still and silent beside

her.

But it lasted less than five minutes before he spoke. “Emma…”

“I’m about to fall asleep. Don’t bother me,” she cut him off, just as coldly as he used to cut her off every time she tried to talk to him in the past.

“I have work to do.”

“I have a meeting in the morning. You should get some sleep.”

“Go on without me. I’m busy.”

Five years–so many rejections, so many excuses. In the end, he’d stopped even bothering with explanations. Just a single indifferent “mm,” and she was left standing alone.

What a bitter joke.

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Chapter 112

Funny how things turn around. Now it was him who wanted to talk, who was trying to reach out.

But really, there was only one person who could make him swallow his pride like this: Cecilia.

She’d called the police. Had they found Cecilia yet? Was that why he was here–because of Cecilia?

A chill settled over her heart. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

Finally, the world sank into the hush of night.

The next morning, when she woke, the space beside her was empty.

The smell of butter and herbs drifted through the air–her grandmother had made those noodles, just as promised.

Emma opened the door and saw an empty bowl on the table–Theodore had already eaten, but his things were still there. He hadn’t left yet.

Her grandmother told her to wait a moment; she’d have a fresh bowl of noodles ready

soon.

“Okay,” Emma replied, stepping outside to catch a breath of crisp morning air.

As she opened the door, she heard Theodore’s voice coming from the garden. He was on the phone, speaking in a low tone, but she still caught a fragment of his conversation–the unmistakable sound of her name on his lips: “Cici.”

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