Chapter 2
Celeste stood up, linking her arm with mine, suggesting we freshen up.
She was Rowan’s esteemed guest, and no one dared to stop us, so I followed her out of the room.
Before leaving, she draped a Chanel coat over my shoulders, covering my bare skin.
In the restroom, she carefully wiped my hand that had been stepped on by the shoe.
“You look about my age, why stoop to such a place?”
I observed the rich girl before me, exuding superiority from head to toe.
Her custom champagne-colored suit accentuated her perfect figure, the diamonds on her necklace glinting harshly.
People like her would never understand the survival rules in the mud.
What could I say?
That I needed to support a seven-year-old daughter?
That I had to pay exorbitant nursing home bills?
That all this was thanks to her fiancé?
When we returned to the room, the scene had ended.
Because Gideon’s wife, Adeline, had arrived. While Gideon settled the bill,
She finally dropped her gentle facade, grabbed my hair, and pinned me on the sofa.
“Shameless woman! Only fit to be under a man!”
“Look at your background, do you belong in such a place?”
Her nails left scratches on my face, her curses like poisonous blades.
I wanted to tell her I had no father, my mother lay in a hospital bed.
No one left to teach me how to be human.
But I stayed silent, letting her vent her fury.
My calmness enraged her completely, and a crystal ashtray smashed onto my forehead.
Warm blood flowed down my cheek, and as Adeline moved to strike again, a slender hand stopped her.
“Enough, don’t mess up my place too much.”
Rowan’s cold face sent her away.
I held my wound, rushed out into the alley, and broke down in tears by a dumpster.
I didn’t know how long passed until an engine sounded behind me.
A black Maybach stopped at the alley entrance, and Rowan lowered the window.
“Get in.”
I shook my head: “No need.”
He frowned, got out, and dragged me into the backseat without a word.
The wound on my forehead hurt terribly. I gave him an address, and he started the car immediately.
He didn’t need navigation; he knew the address all too well.
In the summer of eight years ago, he set off countless fireworks there, deceiving me into trusting him.
The car stopped at an old apartment building. He looked toward my home with a sneer:
“How’s Ms. Sage doing lately?”
My hand paused on the door handle, silent.
He grabbed my chin, his voice icy and cruel:
“Weren’t you the one who hated young love? Do you know your daughter has fallen into disgrace?”
“Oh, she’s no longer a teacher, is she using the money you earn selling yourself to pay for treatment?”
He bit into my collarbone, and I struggled in pain, but he held me down.
“Does Ms. Sage know how many men her precious daughter has been with? Lost count of the marks, right?”
When he mentioned Ms. Sage, his voice dripped with sarcasm.
If he knew my mother had been in a coma for eight years because of him, would he laugh even harder?
I wiped the place he bit, and he sneered: “I’m a big client of your benefactor, shouldn’t you use your skills to serve me?”
I forced a professional smile: “You’re right, I should go back and appease my benefactor.”
He released my hand: “Sage, you’re just a plaything for everyone now, why not warm my bed?”
“I’m younger and richer than him, or do you prefer old men?”
His gaze roamed over me, his words full of humiliation.
I couldn’t be bothered to respond, pushed the car door, and left.
His voice came from behind: “How much did Gideon give you?”
“Two thousand a month.”
“That little? You’re really cheap.”
I heard him take a deep breath, but never looked back.