Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Emma had never truly seen Theodore lose control–not like this.

From the moment she met him, he’d been as distant and elusive as a misty mountain at dusk, or a stand of untouched pines: always calm, always just out of reach, as if a veil hung between him and the world. Even after their marriage, that air of separation never lifted.

But tonight, something had snapped. He was acting nothing like himself–a wildness in his eyes she’d never seen before.

Emma stared in shock at the shirt he’d just torn open, the fabric gaping to reveal taut, sculpted muscles. Panic prickled up her spine.

“Theodore, what are you doing?” she demanded, clutching the blanket tightly around

her.

He glared at her with a ferocity that was almost foreign. “What do you think I’m doing?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You’re my wife. You live under my roof, spend my money, and now you’re plotting with someone else against me. What do you think I should do?”

“I didn’t-” She had thought there was no point in explaining, but looking at him now, she realized he might really be about to do something reckless.

As Theodore’s hands went to his belt, Emma, still wrapped in the blanket, scrambled to escape to the other side of the bed.

He was faster. In a second, he had her–blanket and all–pinned beneath him again.

“Theodore, let me go!” she yelled, struggling.

He acted as if he couldn’t hear her.

In moments, he’d ripped the blanket away and was tugging at her nightdress.

The memory of the last time he’d snapped–drunk and out of control–flashed in her mind. Emma pressed her hands to her neckline, bracing her arms against his chest, but she was no match for his raw, reckless strength.

The metal buckle of his belt dug painfully into her side. His grip pried her hands away from her collar, and she cried out, desperation rising. “Theodore! Stop this right now! Look at me–do you even know who I am?”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears.

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Chapter 35

With a sharp rip, her nightdress tore.

“Theodore!” she shrieked, swinging a fist at his head.

He caught her wrists easily, pinning them above her. His face hovered over hers, shadowed eyes burning with a feverish light. “What’s the point of screaming? Mrs. Whitman, have I been too good to you these past years? Too lenient? Is that why you’re so brazen now?”

So, he wasn’t completely out of his mind.

“Thank you for all your kindness, Mr. Whitman!” she spat. “Why don’t you go give it to Cecilia? If you’re so eager, go lose control with her! Don’t lose your mind here with me!” His so–called kindness, his five years of cold indifference–she wanted none of it.

At the mention of Cecilia, he finally paused. His dark eyes still bored into her, but his body stilled. “You just can’t let Cici go, can you?” he said coldly. “Let me remind you, Mrs. Whitman, jealousy has its limits. Throw a tantrum at home all you want, but if you endanger the company, don’t expect my patience to last forever.”

“Mr. Whitman!” she snapped, jaw clenched. “Let’s get something straight: First, I’m not jealous. Second, the person threatening your precious company was never me–l haven’t even set foot near your boardroom. There’s a word for what’s happening here: you reap what you sow! The mess you and your precious Cecilia made–deal with it yourselves! Don’t pin it on me! And third, whenever Cecilia cries, suddenly your company’s not so important anymore. Funny how you never mention profits then!”

Cecilia’s notebook was still right there–proof that she’d been willing to take on the world to protect her.

Wasn’t it written, clear as day?

The sound of Cecilia’s name seemed to bring Theodore back to his senses. He finally rolled away from her, starting to fasten his belt again. “Don’t worry,” he said, voice clipped. “Like I told you before, you’ll always be Mrs. Whitman. Cici’s return doesn’t threaten your place. But I suggest you calm down.”

He straightened his shirt, headed for the door, then paused on the threshold and looked back.

“You have tonight to cool off. Tomorrow night, either come back to our bedroom–or I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

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