Chapter 3
Emily felt a sharp yank as the man pulled her back by her hair.
Searing pain shot through her scalp as the man spewed profanities, grabbing her head and slamming it against a nearby car.
"Ah!"
Explosive pain erupted from her forehead. Emily could barely stand as blood trickled down, blurring her vision.
The man snarled viciously. "I was being nice because of your pretty face! But you're just too ungrateful, taking my money and then trying to back out of the deal!"
Emily struggled desperately, glaring at him through the blood. "Go find whoever took your money! I didn't agree to anything!"
"I don't care! I want you! Getting the former Harrison heiress for a few hundred grand—what a bargain landing in my lap!" Lust blazed in his eyes as he spoke.
Emily summoned all her remaining strength for one more attempt to break free.
But the natural strength difference between men and women was too great, especially after the blow to her head left her dizzy and disoriented.
Emily glanced around desperately.
Their struggle had attracted numerous onlookers, some even taking photos with their phones.
"Please help me!" Emily pleaded. "This man is a trafficker—I don't even know him!"
"Don't listen to this lying bitch! She took my money, which makes her mine! Get in the car now!" The man lost patience, roughly grabbing Emily's arm and trying to shove her into the vehicle.
Emily felt nothing but pure despair.
Why was fate so determined to torment her?
Just as Emily was about to collapse, a figure appeared beside them. Suddenly, the man was kicked away with tremendous force.
Emily slumped to the ground, barely able to raise her head to see Michael standing before her.
Seeing it was him again, her heart trembled.
Michael's expression remained impassive, but his eyes were filled with a cold, oppressive intensity that few could withstand.
Simply standing there, he commanded an intimidating presence.
The man scrambled to his feet, cursing, "Which blind bastard dares to touch me? Do you have a death wish?"
His words died in his throat as he met Michael's murderous gaze.
Those eyes were devoid of warmth, looking at him as if he were nothing but an insect to be crushed.
The man's legs instantly turned to jelly. "Mr. Wilson! I—I didn't recognize you! Please forgive my blindness!"
Michael stared at him expressionlessly. "You dare touch what's mine?"
Those words exploded in Emily's ears.
Michael was using his influence to protect her, branding her with his mark.
The man's eyes widened in terror. "Ms. Harrison, Ms. Harrison, I was wrong! I was momentarily possessed—I had no idea you were under Mr. Wilson's protection! Please, just this once, forgive me!"
Emily weakly wiped the blood from her eyes and looked at the man's panicked face.
The contrast was almost laughable—the same face that had shown such malice moments ago now displayed nothing but fear.
And all because of one sentence from Michael.
Such was the power of influence.
In this city, even the slightest connection to Michael meant untouchable status.
Could she perhaps rely on Michael as well?
Emily clenched her fist and said coldly, "Go find whoever took your money. I never want to see you again."
Michael signaled to his bodyguard with a glance, and the man was promptly dragged away.
With the immediate danger eliminated, Emily felt her remaining strength evaporate. The world before her began to twist and spin.
She collapsed forward.
Instead of the hard impact she expected, she fell into strong arms that smelled faintly of cedar.
Michael's shoulders were remarkably broad, like an imposing mountain that could shield her from all storms.
"Thank you, Mr. Wilson," Emily managed to say with great difficulty. She tried to support herself and step away from his embrace, but she was still unsteady.
Michael removed his jacket and draped it over Emily's shoulders before lifting her into his arms. "I'll take you to the hospital."
Emily wanted to say something more, but darkness swallowed her consciousness.
When Emily next awoke, it was early morning.
She stared at the ceiling, gingerly touching the bandaged wound on her forehead, her mind still somewhat disoriented.
Michael had saved her twice now.
The door to the wardopened, and Michael entered wearing a dress shirt and slacks.
Emily immediately noticed the small bloodstains and wrinkles on his shirt, and an absurd thought crossed her mind.
Had Michael stayed with her all night without changing his clothes?
Michael gazed at her with deep, unreadable eyes. "You're awake. Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere? I'll have someone examine you."
"I'm much better now. Thank you, Mr. Wilson." Emily's fingers lightly gripped the bedsheet.
"If you hadn't appeared yesterday..." She paused, looking up intently at Michael.
"I'll never forget what you've done for me. If there's ever anything I can do for you, just ask."
Michael nodded casually, seemingly indifferent to her promise. "I have work to attend to. Rest well. The medical bills have been taken care of."
Emily spoke earnestly, "Could I have your account details or contact information? I'll earn money and repay your medical expenses soon."
Michael took out a black business card with gold embossing from his pocket. He handed it to Emily and said simply, "I'm leaving."
"All right."
Sitting in bed, Emily clutched the card tightly.
The name "Michael Wilson" appeared to be his personal signature—powerful strokes with forceful turns, just like the man himself.
After putting the card away, Emily noticed a jacket draped over a nearby chair—Michael's.
The fleeting thought she'd had earlier now solidified into certainty.
That afternoon, Emily completed her discharge procedures. With her forehead injury, she couldn't return to her club job for a few days.
She took the jacket to a dry cleaner, all while holding tightly to that business card.
After brief hesitation, she made a phone call. "Gavin, could you help me track Michael's whereabouts?"