My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 552

Just as Emily Blair expected, Isabella Austin really did produce so-called evidence of her plagiarism two days later.

When Mr. Parker sent it over, Emily read through it carefully.

The accusations were well-organized, with clear reasoning and a logical timeline.

First, Isabella Austin had sent Mr. Parker a detailed account of Emily’s past friendship with Vivian Martin.

Emily had to admit, The Lane Family’s influence was impressive. In just two days, they’d somehow managed to have Isabella’s song *Love* backdated on streaming platforms—making it look as if it had been released before Vivian Martin’s *Desire*.

When Emily checked the music site herself, she saw that Isabella’s *Love* had indeed been published several years earlier—even before Vivian had supposedly written *Desire*.

With this, the roles of plagiarist and victim were completely reversed.

Now, the piece Emily played in the Starlight Piano Competition finals, *Desire*, was being used as “evidence” of her plagiarism.

That was the power of the Lane family’s wealth and connections.

Emily couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh as she read it all.

Mr. Parker sounded furious: “Ms. Blair, when you told me your side of the story, I really believed you hadn’t plagiarized. But you lied to me. I won’t ever trust you again!”

Emily tried messaging Mr. Parker, but sure enough—she was blocked.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and tossed her phone aside.

Just then, someone knocked at the door.

Emily, head down as she signed some papers, called out, “Come in.”

Before she could look up, someone slapped a card down in front of her.

“All set. Here’s your contestant pass—take good care of it.”

It was Tristan Davis.

Emily picked up the badge, arching an eyebrow. “You’re fast.”

Tristan scoffed. “You act like you don’t know who I am.”

Emily slipped the pass into her pocket, twirling her pen. “Andrew Lane’s arriving the day after tomorrow, right?”

After their last meeting at the zoo, she’d returned to the capital on business and hadn’t stayed in Riven.

“Yeah.”

Tristan’s answer was followed by an irritated sigh. “You asked me that yesterday. Why are you asking again? Are you that interested in Andrew Lane?”

Emily sighed. “I’m just confirming his schedule, that’s all.”

Tristan rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Seriously? You’re supposed to be a genius—why do you need to ask twice?”

Emily shrugged. “Then just forget I said anything.”

Tristan huffed. “What’s with that attitude?”

Emily just lifted her shoulders again, indifferent.

DESTINY.

Before leaving, Elizabeth Wilson glanced around the crowded dance floor, clearly unimpressed by the bodies writhing under the neon lights.

“Time’s almost up—I’m heading out. Be careful, okay?”

Emily automatically frowned, turning away to escape.

But a hand grabbed her waist, fingers lingering in a way that made her skin crawl.

“Don’t move, sweetheart. I can tell you’re dizzy—let me help you,” the man slurred, his voice sticky and suggestive. “Come on, just lean on me. I’ll take you back to your hotel.”

As he spoke, he tightened his grip, trying to pull her into his chest and steer her toward the door.

Emily, still woozy, blinked up at the stranger, trying to focus.

Realizing he was someone she didn’t know, she shoved at him, her voice shaky but firm: “Don’t touch me. Get off—let go of me!”

He just laughed, catching her wrists in his hand. “Feisty, aren’t you? Is this you playing hard to get?”

He pinned her against the wall, looming in close so his face was next to hers. “Stop struggling, sweetheart—or I might just have to take you right here.”

Emily winced, her breathing ragged, cheeks flushed—she looked every bit the drunk girl, probably unable to process what he was saying.

Seeing her like this, the man’s grin grew uglier. “You’re even cuter like this. Promise you’ll be this sweet in bed too, yeah? I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself.”

Suddenly, Emily snapped her head up and shoved him away with all her strength, then hurled the contents of her glass straight into his face.

“I said, don’t touch me!” she shouted.

His expression darkened, jaw clenched. “So you’d rather do this the hard way, huh? I was trying to be nice, but I guess you want it rough.”

With that, he lunged, grabbing the back of her neck.

Emily’s face was forced upward, her vision swimming—she looked utterly drunk, barely able to see, let alone fight back.

“Come on, cut the act,” he sneered. “Girls don’t come to bars, get wasted, and not want a man to take them home—”