Overbearing CEO's Contract Love
Chapter 267: You Are My Woman

Chapter 267: You Are My Woman

Emma Hart awoke, fearing that if she slept any longer, it might become a permanent rest. The old saying that it’s better to live poorly than to die well always propelled her forward, commanding her life’s direction with divine insistence. No matter what, she had to live well.

Emma’s eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was that man, Damien Sterling, almost rising from his chair, worry flickering in his eyes. The doctor rushed to her side, conducting a quick examination before confirming to Damien, "Miss Emma is alright now."

Damien waved his hand, and everyone in the room retreated towards the door, much like courtiers in an ancient court withdrawing from the presence of their monarch. Damien himself seemed to relax, reaching into his pocket and fiddling with a pack of cigarettes. After glancing at Emma, he tossed the pack aside. This was a hospital, after all, and although no one could stop him from smoking whenever he wished, he knew better than to do so in front of Emma.

Stretching his long legs and leaning back, Damien had been vigilantly by her side since she was admitted, sitting continuously, which now resulted in some discomfort in his back.

"Speak," he demanded, his gaze upon Emma was like an inquisition, his deep eyes fixed on her, waiting for her explanation, her accountability.

Emma turned her head away, unwilling to respond. There was nothing to say.

Damien’s brow furrowed in frustration, as if merely seeing him brought her spirits down, and he had seemingly unlocked this new ability in himself.

"So, you went to get the deed to borrow money, didn’t you?"

How did he know everything again? Emma instinctively glanced at Damien, who was staring intently at her. What was there to look at when he already knew everything? Why bother asking her?

"Don’t you know it all already?"

"I know that I do not allow my woman to borrow money from others. It would make others think Damien Sterling is stingy with his own woman!" His gaze remained unblinking and icy, making Emma feel trapped, the whole atmosphere frozen by his presence.

"That’s my business."

"You are mine!" he stated unequivocally, his pristine suit without a single wrinkle, sitting upright, his hair perfectly in place, not showing a sign of disarray. This man, looking every bit the part, was saying something utterly detestable.

She was her own person! When had she become someone else’s?

So, what was she supposed to do now?

"Don’t worry about the money, just focus on getting better," he said, thankfully not claiming her health as his own. But wasn’t using his money just another way for him to keep her tethered to him?

"I don’t need it!" Emma Hart stubbornly insisted. Continuing to owe him would only extend her bondage indefinitely. When would it end?

"It’s not up to you to decide whether you need it or not! Stay here and take care of yourself!" Damien Sterling commanded, rising to his full height, his towering presence making Emma look up from her hospital bed. In a moment, he was out the door.

Emma pulled the blanket over her head and closed her eyes, sighing. Perhaps another sleep was in order; it seemed only in dreams was she ever truly at ease, with all the mess waiting for her outside.

Suddenly, the blanket was yanked away, revealing a face that startled Emma into gaping in shock.

As her eyes adjusted and recognized the man, her heart settled. "Why are you back?" she asked.

Damien picked up his wristwatch from the table and put it on, his gaze intermittently falling on Emma. "Covering yourself like that, are you trying to suffocate yourself?" he teased, his tone mocking yet playful.

Emma quickly pulled the blanket back over her head, her muffled voice coming from beneath, "I don’t want to see you!"

It seemed she disliked him even more than before.

In the hospital, Emma roamed like a lost soul, wandering the halls and the garden, always under watchful eyes. After their indisputable negotiation failure—him forbidding her to work and her defiance—Damien had simply left her in the hospital with a stern warning to the staff: keep her here, or the hospital gets shut down. No one dared gamble with their livelihoods.

Wherever she went, Emma felt countless eyes on her. Whether she was in the hospital corridors, her room, or outside in the garden, her most frequent response was, "I’m just walking around."

Then she’d move on to the next spot, ready for another round of questioning.

Even if it meant enduring further inquiries, Emma preferred it to the stifling confines of her hospital room.

In the garden, an elderly man stood before an easel, with Emma Hart observing him from a distance.

He occasionally lifted his brush to gauge something in the air, quickly added strokes to his canvas, stood back to scrutinize his work, adjusted a detail, then stepped back again.

Following the old man’s gaze, Emma couldn’t understand what was worth painting; Damien Sterling had built towering skyscrapers everywhere, blocking any scenic views.

Curiosity piqued, she decided to approach and see what the old man was painting.

Emma didn’t want to disturb the artist at work, so she quietly walked behind him, only to discover a landscape painting on his easel—an unexpected sight given the urban environment around them. She looked at the old man with a puzzled expression, wondering if she had accidentally wandered into a psychiatric ward.

However, the old man seemed completely absorbed in his work, his eyes warm and full of longing, not the typical demeanor of someone unwell. As Emma moved around him, the old man suddenly spoke with a chuckle, "Young lady, do you think I’m out of my mind?"

Emma nodded, then quickly shook her head.

"No, no..." Emma hurriedly explained, realizing her thoughts had perhaps been too transparent.

"Sir, what are you painting? There’s nothing here, how can you create such a beautiful scene?" Emma asked, bewildered as she stared at the painting on the easel.

The old man continued his strokes, occasionally enhancing areas he found unsatisfactory, "What’s there to paint in a hospital? Since I’ve seen such beauty and stored it in my heart, why can’t I paint it?"

"Why didn’t you paint it before?" Emma asked, not understanding why, if he had seen such scenes in the past and seemed such a skilled artist, he hadn’t captured these scenes earlier.

Hearing Emma’s question, the old man sighed, yet his eyes remained gentle, reflecting a serene acceptance of life’s vast experiences. He looked into the distance, lit a cigarette, and opened his mouth as if unsure where to start explaining.

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