Dying to Love You

The mournful music echoed through the hall, pulling at the heartstrings, while Emily Carter knelt in front of the altar, dressed in stark white mourning clothes, head bowed low.

Her parents' portraits sat high on the shrine, their images cold under the harsh lights. She just knelt there, motionless, her eyes as dry as the desert.

People kept coming to pay their respects, casting her disgusted glances as they passed.

"She's truly cruel. Her own parents are gone, and she can't even shed a tear?"

"Right? She was so heartless to a pregnant woman half a year ago. Now her parents are both dead, and she doesn't even flinch. She's basically heartless."

The spiteful whispers, deliberately hushed, still sliced into her like blades. But Emily kept her eyes on the floor, ignoring them all.

If you still have tears to cry, that means the pain hasn't broken you yet. But after everything—from the relentless beatings in prison to the endless torment—she'd cried all she could.

She used to think tears would never run out. Turns out, they do.

Through those days that felt worse than death, not only her tears dried up—something inside her did too.

Time ticked by slowly. As night fell, the funeral guests thinned out. Emily remained kneeling, alone and silent.

By now her legs had gone completely numb, and the pain from her injuries pulsed with every breath. Honestly, if she just dropped dead here, she'd be fine with it.

A pair of shiny black dress shoes appeared in front of her. A wave of cold tension swept in as he arrived—she didn't have to look up to know it was James Mitchell.

She dipped her head even lower, her eyes fixed on the polished floor tiles. On the surface, she could see his reflection—tall, sharp, looking like he walked out of a magazine—even if his face was shadowed with grief as he laid the flowers near the altar and lit some incense.

James bowed three times, respectfully and properly, then turned around to face her, looking down at the girl on her knees with a trace of disgust flashing through his expression.

The very next second, his long fingers reached out and grabbed her chin. "Still alive, huh?"

Emily let him force her gaze upward, locking eyes with that familiar loathing in his. She blinked, empty and unflinching, like she couldn't feel a thing anymore.James absolutely loathed that expression on Emily's face. How could someone so cruel and malicious wear such an innocent and pretty look?

Staring into her wide, clear eyes and that still-youthful face, all he could think of was the despicable things she'd done. Fury boiled in his chest. Without warning, he yanked her up from the floor and wrapped his hand tight around her neck.

Emily didn't struggle. She just looked back at him with those same clear eyes—calm, resigned. The man she had once loved with everything. Her parents were gone, the prison had already broken her into pieces. At this point, dying by his hands almost seemed like a relief.

James yanked his hand back, scowling. Killing her outright would be too easy. He was in agony—why should she get to escape?

But as his eyes fell on her beautiful, delicate face, a sudden heat surged through him, wild and hard to suppress.

“You bitch. You drugged me, didn't you?” he snarled, catching the faint sweetness in the air. His expression twisted with rage as his hands reached for her again.

With a harsh rip, her clothes tore under the force of his grip. Emily instinctively crossed her arms to shield herself, but his hands were already moving across her body like he owned it.

The sound of ripping fabric filled her ears over and over, and the cold crept ruthlessly into every part of her.

Terror painted her wide eyes. “No… please don't…”

James didn't slow down for a second. He forced her down, flipped her over without a care, yanked his zipper down, and pushed in with brutal force.

Pain exploded through her, raw and tearing. She stayed there on her knees, dazed, staring blankly up at the altar, grief hollowing her out. Not a single tear fell.

James pounded into her, unforgiving, every thrust hard and violent. Blood mixed with every movement. His voice was ice cold. “Nice job fixing your hymen. Which hospital did it?”

She said nothing. Silently, she took it—just like a lifeless shell, left for him to use as he pleased.Her silence felt like silent resistance to James, which only made him rougher. By the time he finally pulled away, he realized Emily had already lost consciousness.