Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 320: Emily: Where Is Mike?

Looking down at her, my features relaxed into a softer expression. "Oh, she definitely will," I remarked with confidence, a mischievous glint in my voice. "Anya is far too inquisitive now. Curiosity will drive her to uncover the truth."

Despite her lingering shame, a faint smile touched Nathalie's lips as she shook her head. "You are likely correct," she conceded. "However, what happens if she realizes we were merely... putting on an act?"

I let out a grin, pulling her closer by the waist. "Then we must ensure she remains in the dark," I replied playfully. "Besides, where is the excitement in being caught?"

Reaching the vehicle, Nathalie exhaled a quiet sigh and leaned against me. "You are going to lead us straight into trouble," she whispered, though her tone lacked any genuine bite.

I held the car door open for her, my smirk remaining fixed. "Perhaps," I confessed, "but the reward will be worth the risk."

The car gave a low hum as Lisa steered through the tranquil streets, with the city's neon glow dancing across the glass. Beside me, Nathalie sat with her fingers restlessly tugging at her dress hem, her face a mask of relief tangled with embarrassment. A heavy tension filled the air, yet a new element had emerged—a silent bond and a peculiar intimacy that had taken root despite the circumstances.

Breaking the quiet at last, Nathalie spoke in a hesitant, soft voice. "Regarding my son...?" she inquired, her gaze meeting mine for a fleeting second before she looked away.

I settled back into the upholstery, my voice casual yet firm. "Let him reside in one of those properties," I stated with finality. "You have the freedom to go wherever you wish. He will be protected there."

Nathalie’s breath hitched, her grip tightening on her skirt. "Thank you," she mouthed softly, her voice wavering. Her appreciation was sincere, yet it was weighed down by internal strife, guilt, and the heavy history between us.

I gave a low chuckle, my tone light but laced with a possessive edge. "We are already husband and wife," I noted, watching her face redden. "There is no need for such formalities between us, is there?"

Nathalie’s skin flushed an even deeper crimson, her discomfort obvious. She was well aware of the reality—that I was the man who had ended her husband’s life and distorted her son’s future into a nightmare. Yet, she offered no resistance. There were no screams, no physical struggle, and no demands for justice. She simply gave a small nod, her hands continuing their nervous fidgeting in her lap.

The vehicle glided to a halt in front of the villa, the engine dying with a soft purr. Nathalie remained tense, her breathing ragged as she sat lost in contemplation. I reached out, letting my fingers graze hers for a brief moment.

"You possess your freedom, Nathalie," I murmured gently. "But never forget—you belong to me now."

She refused to look at me. However, I noticed the way her hands trembled just before she balled them into fists. There was no defiance, no outburst, and no sharp retorts.

She merely nodded once more, her head dipping as if the movement itself was an exhausting chore. The silence was heavy, saturated with everything she left unsaid and the gravity of the path we were now forced to walk.

The car door clicked shut, and the evening air hit us like a cold omen. It was chillier than anticipated, smelling of wet soil and a strange, electric energy—the kind that precedes a violent storm.

I breathed out slowly, watching the mist vanish into the dark. One thing was certain: this was not a conclusion, but a beginning. Nathalie sensed it as well. I could tell by the rigidity of her shoulders and the way she paused before walking away.

Without a word, she headed toward the edge of the estate with measured steps. I knew her destination—Tyler’s affairs required her attention, and she was the only one capable of managing them discreetly.

Meanwhile, I pushed the heavy villa doors open, the hinges letting out a faint groan as I entered.

The interior was shadowed, the pulsing light of the hearth throwing long flickers across the marble. My eyes adjusted, taking in the scene. Emily sat on the sofa’s edge, her fingers drumming a restless beat on her knee. Jennifer was a sharp silhouette against the window, staring out at the grounds. But Angela was nowhere to be seen.

Just as I was about to call for her, Lisa appeared at my side, her face unreadable. She leaned toward me, speaking in a hushed, urgent tone.

"Boss, Angela is directing operations from the fortress," Lisa whispered. "She is delegating tasks and ensuring everyone is at their post. She told me to inform you she will return once the situation is stabilized."

I nodded, though a knot formed in my gut. Angela only retreated to the fortress when things were spiraling. Her presence there suggested the stakes were far higher than we had guessed. The fortress was more than a base—it was a final line of defense.

Before I could think further, Emily marched toward me, her face a mixture of fury and dread. "Where is Mike?" she snapped, her voice piercing the room’s tension.

"What have you done with him? Are we being held as captives?" Her fists were clenched so hard her knuckles turned white. Beneath the anger, I saw raw panic—the desperation of someone fearing the worst.

I noticed Jennifer’s reaction out of the corner of my eye. She looked entirely unbothered, a wicked smile spreading across her face as if Emily’s distress was merely a show. That smile settled my next move.

I turned to Emily, maintaining a calm demeanor amidst the brewing chaos. "Mrs. Emily," I said firmly, "we need to speak in private. If you wish to learn the truth about your husband, follow me." I pointed toward the corridor, my eyes locked onto hers.

There was no room for delay. Whatever news was coming, she needed to hear it away from the others—especially Jennifer’s twisted amusement.