Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 156

Chapter 156

He set the paper bag down on the nightstand without saying a word.

The moment he entered, it felt as though a storm cloud had settled over the room, the air growing heavy and tense. For a second, Sebastian was at a loss for words, the atmosphere thick with unspoken discomfort.

Emma didn’t spare Theodore so much as a glance. Instead, she smiled at Sebastian, breaking the awkward silence. “Anyway, Sebastian, where were we? Oh right–how did you finally break that bad habit with your feet?”

“Oh, right.” Sebastian immediately launched into stories from his days learning to dance.

With every anecdote–each challenge he’d faced in the studio–Emma lit up with understanding.

“Oh my god! That happened to me too!”

“Right? It hurt so much!”

“I know! I used to cry in secret because the instructor was so strict. But honestly, I’m grateful now. If they hadn’t pushed us so hard, we’d never have become who we are.”

“Seriously. The hardest thing was always fighting off cravings.”

Each time Sebastian spoke, Emma chimed in with her own stories.

They’d both grown up training in dance–facing the same struggles, sharing the same bittersweet memories, and basking in similar moments of applause and glory. They spoke the same language, lived on the same wavelength.

Theodore, on the other hand, was an outsider. He didn’t understand anything they were talking about. Some of the terms–like “double turn,” “leg pull jump,” “barrel roll,” or “flying spin“-were completely foreign to him.

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Chapter 156

Meanwhile, Emma and Sebastian grew more animated, laughing so hard that Emma started pounding the bed with her fist, gasping, “Seriously! Back then, when I was cutting weight, I was so hungry I thought about gnawing on the bed frame!”

Theodore’s expression grew darker by the second, but the two showed no sign of stopping. At last, he cut in, his voice cold, “Mr. Remington, this is a hospital. I’d appreciate it if you remembered the word ‘quiet.”

Emma shot him a look. Was he for real?

“Theodore!” Her tone suddenly hardened. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

He met her gaze, eyes clouded with annoyance. “Mr. Remington, visiting hours are regulated, aren’t they? The patient needs rest. Don’t you think it’s time-?”

The message was clear: time to leave.

Sebastian looked uncomfortable.

Emma’s husband, he thought, was insufferable. If they were anywhere else, he’d have snapped back, but this was a hospital—and Emma was injured. Like it or not, Theodore was her husband, and out of respect for

Emma…

He swallowed his frustration.

“Emma.” He stood up. “I’ll head out, then. Get some rest. I’ll come visit another day.”

“I’m really sorry, Sebastian.” Emma was genuinely angry at Theodore’s rudeness.

“No worries. Focus on getting better. We’ll catch up on tour.” Sebastian winked-“catch up on tour” was their little code, a phrase only the two of them understood.

After Sebastian left, Theodore fixed his gaze on Emma. “What was that about a code? ‘Catch up on tour‘? Where are you two meeting? Mrs. Whitman, don’t forget who you are.”

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Emma pulled the covers up and replied coolly, “Mr. Whitman, visiting hours are over. The patient needs rest. You should go.”

“Throwing me out?” Theodore pointed toward the door. “You defend that guy at every turn, but you want me gone–what’s your deal?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like.” Emma leaned against the headboard. “Please. Leave.”

Theodore’s anger boiled over. He glanced at the uneasy nurse’s aide standing nearby. “And you–who are you?”

“N–nurse’s aide,” she stammered, visibly anxious.

“So you know how to hire help for yourself now?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he let out a cold laugh. “You–get out.”

He was talking to the aide.

The nurse’s aide looked at Emma, and, seeing she didn’t object, slipped out to the hallway. She didn’t go far, though; after all, she’d been hired by the patient and felt responsible for her.

Theodore sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in so close that his hands pinned Emma in place on either side. “Why did you block me?”

Emma thought for a moment, then answered, “There are only a few things left for us to discuss: First, when you settle our contract, transfer my share in cash the next day. Second, anything regarding dropping the lawsuit. Third… possible remaining financial matters. All of that can be handled by phone. I don’t need to keep you on WhatsApp–I don’t want your posts popping up and ruining my mood.”

“Ruining your mood? What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was sharp.

Emma arched an eyebrow. Whoever gets worked up first loses.

“I’ve never posted on WhatsApp in my life! How am I ruining your day?” He was getting riled up, even letting a curse slip.

Emma just gave a noncommittal “Oh.” Really? Never posted? Deleting

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posts doesn’t count as never, right?

He glared at her, suddenly lunging forward to press a forceful kiss to her lips.

Emma was caught off guard–her head was still bandaged!

“Theodore! Are you out of your mind?”

He scoffed, “If I’m the rotten one, what does that make you? You’re the one swallowing it now, aren’t you?”

Emma nearly gagged. The whiskey from last night was still burning in her stomach, and his words made her feel sick.

She doubled over the bed, fighting the urge to throw up.

Theodore kicked the trash can closer. “Mrs. Whitman! Why do you always want to puke after I kiss you?!”

Emma didn’t manage to throw up, but she was done holding back. She lifted her head, glaring at him. “After all these years of marriage, weren’t you always busy moaning Cici’s name and taking care of things yourself? Forgive me for wanting to be sick.”