Chapter2

I lowered my head towards the spilled liquor. “Enough. This is tedious.” Chuck shoved me away with his foot. “Get out.” Relief washed over me. I scrambled up and fled to the staff room to tend to my wounds. My fingers were a mess: tiny cuts crisscrossed the skin, and there were deeper gashes too—one as long as my index finger, still bleeding freely. As I wrapped the gauze, the door opened. The sharp click of expensive shoes announced Chuck. “Life hasn't treated you kindly these past few years,” he remarked, his gaze sweeping over me. ”No progress at all. Still so easily provoked.” “Mr. Carter, I’ve already apologized. Please, have mercy. Let it go.” “Your grandmother is sick. Needs money, I hear?” My head snapped up, eyes blazing. “I have nothing left! What more do you want? Chuck, if you dare touch my grandmother, I swear I'll make you pay, whatever it costs!” A humorless chuckle escaped him. “One minute a cowering little rabbit, the next a hissing wildcat? Much better this way, though.” His tone shifted slightly. “I can get her the best specialists. The top ward in the hospital.” “What's the price?” His fingers tapped a rhythm on the doorframe, like a countdown. “Be my personal assistant. For one year. Your schedule is mine to command. That includes late-night drinking parties.” As he lifted his eyes, the frost in their depths seemed to soften a little—yet it was more like honey laced with poison. I clenched my bandaged hand, the pressure sending fresh pain through the wounds. But the image of the hospital bills… it was a burning brand on my mind. The attending doctor said that if we put it off any longer, even specialized targeted drugs won't be able to stop the spread of cancer cells. “I have one condition,” I said, staring at the polished tip of his shoe. “The hospital arrangements happen immediately. I see her admitted to the VIP suite. I see the doctors' credentials.” “Agreed.” The black Bentley glided through neon-lit streets. Sitting in the passenger seat, the familiar scent of cedarwood from the leather assaulted me. He’d used it six years ago. Back then, it smelled clean, crisp. Now it felt like needles sheathed in ice pricking my lungs. “Beth, how miserably have you been scraping by these past six years?” he broke the silence, his eyes flicking to my worn jeans, “working at a KTV… was it worth it? For that pittance?” I stared at the passing streetlights, my voice flat. “What of it? At least the money I earned was clean.” He slammed on the brakes. Inertia threw me against the dashboard. A red mark bloomed on my forehead, but I made no sound, just slowly righted myself. Chuck’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Clean? When you climbed into my bed back then, did you think about 'clean'?” “You said you loved me,” I turned, looking directly at him for the first time. “You said we'd get engaged after graduation. You tattooed your name on my shoulder blade, saying it would make me yours forever.” The area where the tattoo was still burned, as if countless needles were pricking it. The faded letters were etched into my bone, a constant reminder of his breath warm on my neck as he whispered, “Beth, now we're bound forever.” “Shut up!” he suddenly flew into a rage, as if his sore spot had been touched. “You were just a pawn in my revenge! Don't flatter yourself.” Revenge. That word again. Whispers from others had painted the picture. His childhood sweetheart Amy, jealous I’d won the gold medal at the International Piano Competition, had pushed me down a flight of stairs backstage. My right hand snapped. Amy had lied, claiming I stole her music and attacked her. With no proof, I was defenseless. Chuck believed her. So he pursued me, seduced me, then shattered me at my peak with that video. “Your revenge was thorough,” I laughed, a brittle sound as tears fell unbidden. “Chuck, you broke my hands, my future, my family. Seeing me kneel like a dog now… is it satisfying?” He flinched, his throat working. Finally, he restarted the car, his voice glacial. “We're at the hospital.”