Chapter 213
"Mom, please don't be like this." Emily's grip on her phone turned her knuckles white.
Her mother's shrill voice crackled through the receiver: "I've done my research! That Johnson boy is nothing but a spoiled playboy! No real job, just wasting his days away!"
The setting sun painted the living room in shades of orange through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Emily bit her lower lip, her gaze drifting to the gilded invitation on the coffee table.
"Mom, you haven't even met him—"
"Meet him? Absolutely not!" Her mother's voice rose sharply. "Have you forgotten what his father did to our family?"
Emily's chest tightened. Of course she remembered. That business dispute a decade ago had nearly bankrupted the Johnsons.
"But that was in the past—"
The line went dead with a sharp click. Emily stared at the darkened screen, her fingertips turning cold.
The doorbell rang.
Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her expression before answering. Michael stood at the threshold, a bouquet of roses in hand.
"What's wrong?" His sharp eyes immediately caught her distress.
Emily forced a smile. "It's nothing. My mother...has some reservations about our engagement."
Michael's expression darkened as he set the flowers on the entryway table. His hand cupped her cheek. "Let me talk to her."
"Now isn't the right time—"
"It has to be now." His tone left no room for argument. "I won't let anyone—not even your mother—stand between us."
Emily looked up at him. The fading sunlight cast shadows across his chiseled profile, and the usual playful glint in his eyes had been replaced by startling intensity.
Suddenly, she recalled the anonymous text she'd received that morning: Do you really think he loves you? This is just his revenge.
"Michael," she whispered, "did you pursue me just for this arranged marriage?"
His hand froze mid-air.
"Michael never let me work in the fields. He supported all three of us by himself. I'm not ungrateful. If Grandpa can arrange a job for him in the city, we'll move back and take care of you."
Mrs. Johnson eyed her daughter's new clothes—even the boys' outfits were spotless. Meanwhile, her own sleeves bore patches.
This country bumpkin son-in-law had clearly taken good care of them.
No wonder Emily refused to return with her.
Still, she couldn't stomach the thought of her daughter married to some backwater farmer she'd never met.
"Let me show you to your room."
Emily didn't bother arguing. She grabbed her mother's luggage and headed next door.
The room held a wooden bed, two camphor chests, and a desk neatly stacked with textbooks and pencils. The cement floor gleamed, the white walls pristine.
"This is Tommy and David's room."
Mrs. Johnson hid her surprise. These conditions surpassed many city homes—except for the lack of electricity.
"I brought you some things. Didn't know you'd married, so nothing for the boys."
She despised her son-in-law's origins but genuinely adored her grandsons. Both children were polite and well-mannered, nothing like country brats.
Take the gifts?
Of course.
"Your favorite apricot preserves, White Rabbit candies, and this cashmere sweater..."
Did she think Emily was a child? A few sweets couldn't make up for years of hardship.
She wasn't the original Emily—not so easily appeased.
"Thank you."
Free things were free things. Only a fool would refuse.
"Rest now. The train ride must've exhausted you. Didn't sleep well at the inn last night, did you?"
Mrs. Johnson was indeed weary. Age made travel grueling.
"Alright."
Emily closed the door softly and returned to her room. The boys slept soundly.
She dropped the gifts on the table, massaging her temples. Just months of peace, now shattered.
News spread through Stone Village like wildfire.
"Did you hear? Emily's mother came!"
"What'd she bring?"
Elizabeth Stone and Patricia Stone itched with curiosity but dared not visit. Everyone knew how formidable Emily had become.
Villagers buzzed:
"Will she take Emily back to the city?"
"Michael's away—who'll stop her?"
"What about the boys?"
Ethan Miller crouched outside the courtyard, wringing his hands.
Would she really leave?
Michael, hurry back!
Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, Michael Stone sneezed three times in succession.
"Michael, catching cold?"
Charles Clark's stomach dropped. His friend had once been strong as an ox—was this lingering damage from that injury?