Chapter 7 Only Good Enough as a Pet

Dominic Hawthorne's face twisted in disgust at my words—yet his hand slid from my throat to my chin. His black eyes bore into me, as if trying to see straight through my soul. The air was deathly still, broken only by the sharp scent of alcohol. After a long silence, he let out a cold scoff. "What do you want?" I, naive as I was, thought he believed me—so I said, "I pressed my fingerprint on the wedding contract. As long as you don't re-sign it with her, I'm yours." He shoved me aside and climbed back into the driver's seat, saying nothing. But when he drove all the way home, threw me into a bathtub brimming with ice water, and yanked my hair, snarling, "You think I'd believe a single word from your mouth? A woman like you is at best fit to be a bitch by my side," I came to my senses instantly. Given Dominic's hatred for me, how could he possibly believe me? I thrashed in the water, but he ignored me completely. Only when I was on the verge of drowning did he haul me out. Then, from the bathtub to the windowsill, to the couch, and finally to the bed, we went through position after position… My body was already covered in bruises. Afterward, my lower half throbbed with pain—each movement made tears stream down my face. I cried and begged him to stop, but he acted as if he couldn't hear. In the end, I blacked out. When I came to, I was staring at a sterile white wall, an IV drip hanging beside me. By then, the alcohol had worn off. Recalling what I'd said and done the night before, I wished I could vanish into a crack in the floor. I stayed in the hospital for three days. During that time, besides tending to my injuries, I had to apply ointment to my private areas. No one asked why I was hospitalized, but from the way the nurses looked at me, I knew—they must have already figured it out. Three days passed, and Dominic never appeared. The first thing I did upon discharge was call Gina. Thankfully, she picked up. After hearing my story, she came charging over in a taxi, gathered my things with concern, and took me to her cramped 40-square-meter apartment. I instinctively cleared a space on the clothes-strewn sofa and sat down. Gina dragged over a small stool, sat beside me, lit a cigarette without a word, took two deep drags, and finally asked, "Alright, spill it. What happened?" She was asking me, but her expression already held the knowing look of someone who'd seen it all. With no one else to turn to, I poured out everything that had happened over the past few days. Gina listened, chain-smoking. When I finished, she crushed the cigarette butt into the ashtray beside her, clapped her hands, and said, "Finally, you're done playing the little white rabbit." "What?" I'd expected Gina to yell at me. Instead, she praised me—and I was caught completely off guard. Sitting up straight, she spoke with the confidence of a seasoned pro, "Listen, don't go throwing yourself at Dominic. You've got to play hard to get. Men—once their bodies get involved, their hearts follow." Her meaning was crystal clear: she wanted me to keep entangled with Dominic. But I couldn't forget the searing pain of that night three days ago—even drunk, it was etched into my bones. "Forget it. I'm done. He's a beast!" "Like hell you are," Gina shot back, scooting closer and plopping down on the pile of clothes. She slung an arm around my neck, "How many years have you been mooning over him? You used to cut out newspaper clippings about him and paste them in a scrapbook. Now that he's finally within reach, you're backing out?" Her words froze me. She was right. Hadn't I spent all those years dreaming of meeting Dominic again—and marrying him? "I can stand behind you, like a shadow chasing the light in a dream…" A soft, melodic ringtone rang out. It was my phone. I'd had this ringtone for years. The first time I heard it, I nearly cried. To me, Dominic was that light—knowing full well there was no future, yet I still pushed myself to become better, stronger, hoping one day I could stand on the same level as him. To shake his hand and introduce myself with confidence. When I fished my phone out of my bag and saw that familiar number, I nearly dropped it in terror.