Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 130

She came across a post featuring Vivian and Vivian’s boyfriend.

The two of them were young and full of hope, working hard for their future. In every word, Emma saw a kind of passion and youth that she and Theodore had never shared.

As luck would have it, Vivian’s boyfriend was an IT major.

Emma reached out to Vivian, asking if her boyfriend might be willing to do her a favor–for a generous payment, of course.

Vivian agreed without hesitation. She still hadn’t gotten over witnessing Theodore and Cecilia together in that designer store; the memory alone was enough for her to want to help Emma.

Emma felt genuinely apologetic. With her limited mobility and lack of trustworthy people to turn to, she knew there were risks involved. But, like Theodore, she was prepared; if anything went wrong, she’d do everything in her power to keep Vivian’s boyfriend safe. She’d take responsibility for whatever happened.

She even came up with a way to ensure he’d be protected from any fallout. Vivian’s boyfriend assured her he’d only contact her using secure methods, including when sending her surveillance footage.

No matter what happened in this standoff with Theodore, Emma wasn’t afraid of losing. After all, Cecilia’s issues were far more significant–and the evidence against her was ironclad. She knew Theodore wouldn’t gamble with that.

Her body still ached all over. When Fallon came to call her for dinner, Emma didn’t even feel like moving.

“Just bring it in here,” she said. Aside from those early days after her injury, she’d never eaten in bed.

She cherished the home she’d built with Theodore too much to allow even the smallest stain where it didn’t belong. But now, she couldn’t bring

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herself to care.

Besides, she’d been out most of the day and worked through her rehab exercises, sweating through her clothes. Theodore had brought her straight home and dropped her onto the bed. The sheets were already dirty; she’d have to change them soon anyway.

Fallon brought in a tray with dinner.

Emma didn’t have much of an appetite, but she finished every bite. She needed her strength, whether for rehab or for facing life on her own again–she was still far too weak.

When she’d finished, Fallon cleared her plate and asked if she wanted to shower.

Emma nodded. She really did.

“Can you run a bath for me and change the sheets while I soak?” she asked, unable to stand feeling so sweaty any longer.

“Of course,” Fallon replied, heading off to the bathroom.

Emma tried to get up and walk on her own, but after just a few steps, her legs went weak.

It felt like the aftermath of an extreme workout for someone who never exercised–only the soreness was so much worse. As she stood there, her legs trembled.

Fallon returned and gasped when she saw her. “Ma’am, let me help you.”

Emma took a deep breath and nodded.

She didn’t feel embarrassed. Fallon had cared for her for years. When she and Theodore were first married and she could barely walk, Fallon was the one who’d helped her bathe.

Fallon supported her all the way to the bathroom and helped her settle into the tub before stepping out.

Emma nodded. “Alright, you can go change the bedding now. Come back

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when I’m done.”

She leaned back in the bathtub, warm water soaking into every aching muscle, easing the soreness bit by bit. The relief was so profound, she nearly dozed off.

When she finally felt ready, she called out lazily, “Fallon, I’m done.” She still didn’t want to open her eyes.

Footsteps approached and stopped by the tub, but there was no

movement.

Emma frowned. “Fallon…” She opened her eyes–and saw Theodore standing there.

“What are you doing here?” Emma gasped, instinctively covering her chest with her arms. When she realized the bubbles hid everything, she

exhaled shakily. “Get out!”

She shouted for help. “Fallon! Fallon!”

“Fallon’s not coming,” Theodore said, looking down at her, his gaze dark

and unreadable.

“Fallon!” Emma called again, her voice edged with desperate defiance.

He leaned closer, so near that Emma could see the red veins in his eyes–and her own reflection in them. “Do you really think, with the paycheck I give Fallon, she answers to you or to me?”

He reached into the bubbles, grasped her shoulders, and in one swift motion, lifted her out of the tub.

A cold shock ran through her. For the first time, she was utterly exposed before Theodore–no shields, no defenses. Shame and panic struck her

in the same instant.

She tried to struggle, but it was useless.

The slick bubbles clung to her body and feet, making the tub impossibly slippery, Her legs were too weak to support her. Every time she resisted, she just slid helplessly around the tub, unable to stand. If Theodore hadn’t

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been holding her up, she might have fallen already.

“If you want to hurt yourself, keep fighting,” he warned, his voice low and menacing.

Emma snapped back to her senses and stopped struggling.

She couldn’t afford to fall. She couldn’t risk another injury–not even a twisted ankle. In just a couple weeks, she’d finally be able to leave. She needed to stay steady, to stay whole.

“Not moving anymore?” he asked, coldly, unreadable.

She fell silent, refusing to meet his gaze.

He bent down to drain the tub, then grabbed the showerhead and rinsed away every last trace of foam. Now, standing in the tub with nothing to hide behind, Emma glared at him, hatred burning in her eyes.

“Theodore, don’t give me another reason to hate you.”