Chapter2

“Two hundred thousand,” Caspian said.

The private room went quiet for a moment.

“Drink twenty shots of vodka, then lick his crotch.” He jerked his chin toward Harrington. “Do it, and you get two hundred grand.”

Harrington had been drunk, yet he hadn’t gotten angry—he had laughed instead. “Interesting. I’d been booking this girl for three years. She only drank with me, never sold herself. I thought she was so damn high and mighty.”

I said nothing. I had been calculating. My mother Irene’s nursing home had been owed three months of fees, and my father’s grave had been neglected for years. Two hundred thousand had been enough.

I reached for the bottle on the table and drank from the mouth.

The first shot. The second. The third. The vodka had burned through my throat like swallowing a knife. Caspian had leaned back on the sofa and watched me, expressionless. The woman beside him—his fiancée—had tilted her head at me like she had been watching an animal trapped in a cage.

The fourth. The fifth. The sixth. My stomach had started to spasm. I had paused, braced my hand on the coffee table, and taken a deep breath.

“Can’t drink anymore?” Caspian’s voice had slammed down from above. “If you can’t, then get out.”

I lifted the seventh.

The eighth. The ninth. The tenth.

The moment the tenth had gone down, my stomach had twisted like someone had wrung it hard. I hadn’t held it in—I had bent over and spat a mouthful of blood onto the carpet. Vodka mixed with blood had splattered across the dark gray rug, turning into a black, ugly patch.

Someone in the room had sucked in a breath. Harrington had sobered halfway and leaned back, retreating.

I had knelt on the floor, one hand on the carpet, blood running from the corner of my mouth. My vision had blurred; the lights overhead had swayed like the moon in water. My ears had buzzed, loud and constant, like a thousand bees holding a meeting inside my skull.

But I hadn’t stopped.

I crawled toward Harrington.

My palm had pressed into the carpet, my knees had dragged forward—one step, two, three. Drops of blood had fallen, one by one. I had reached Harrington’s leg and started undoing his pants. My fingers had shaken so badly I couldn’t get the button open.

Harrington had looked down at me, his expression shifting from fear to disgust. “What the fuck is wrong with you—”

A hand had grabbed the back of my collar and yanked me up off the floor.

Caspian’s face had come close. His eyes had been red; his lips had trembled. His hand had pinched my chin and forced my face up.

“Are you insane?”

His voice had been so light only I could hear it.

I smiled, and the blood at the corner of my mouth had smeared across his thumb.

“Wasn’t that what you wanted?” I said.

His fingers had dug into my cheek, hard enough it had felt like he might crush my jawbone. I had looked into his eyes and waited for him to hit me.

His slap had landed.

“啪。”

My head had snapped to the side. My mouth had slammed into my teeth, and blood had surged again. I had known that force well—five years later, the first time we had met again, he had greeted me the same way.

“You’re that fucking cheap?” His voice had shaken. “Two hundred grand and you’ll lick? Your life’s worth two hundred grand?”

“Mr. Reed,” I said, wiping the blood from my mouth, my voice flat. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted to see?”

Caspian had frozen. His eyes had reddened further; his lips had trembled. He had lifted a hand, his fingers almost touching the corner of my eye—there had been a tear there, and I hadn’t even known when it had fallen.

But his fiancée had moved faster, hooking her arm through Caspian’s and pulling his hand down from midair. She had tilted her head at me and smiled.

“Well, if it isn’t Daphne. I even wanted to help you back then. My friend had connections at ‘Darklight’—said he could buy you out. And what did you do? You refused. You insisted on rolling around in a pile of men. Cheap is cheap. Even when someone gives you a chance, you can’t hold on to it.”

After she had spoken, she had rested her chin on Caspian’s shoulder and smiled prettily. Caspian hadn’t said a word. He had grabbed an empty bottle from the table and smashed it down hard.

“Bang.”

Glass had exploded everywhere. Shards had skittered to my feet, and one had bitten into my bare calf. The room had fallen instantly silent.

Caspian had swept his gaze around the room. His voice hadn’t been loud, but every word had hit like a nail.

“After tonight, nobody touches her. Whoever touches her is against me.”

No one had spoken.

He had pulled out a black card and thrown it at me. It had landed on the broken glass with a crisp sound.

Then he had taken the woman in the pale yellow dress by the hand and walked out.

I had crouched and picked up the card. A shard had sliced my finger; blood had smeared into the card’s black surface until it had been hard to tell where the blood ended and the card began.

I stood up and walked out of the room.

The hallway had been long, lit in dim red. I had held the wall as I walked; every step had churned my stomach. Blood had seeped from the corner of my mouth, run down my chin, and dripped onto my collar.

Outside the club doors, rain had been pouring.

The downpour had soaked me, washing off the blood on my face, washing off the tears, washing off the sticky sweat and liquor. I had wanted to stop somewhere, anywhere, but my legs hadn’t listened and had kept moving.

A black SUV had braked hard beside me, splashing dirty water all over me.

The window had lowered. Caspian’s face had wavered in the rain.

“After leaving me,” he said, “you still couldn’t find a man to marry?”

I didn’t want to look at him. I turned to leave, but my legs had betrayed me and my body had tipped sideways.

The car door had opened. He had rushed out, grabbed my arm, and shoved me into the passenger seat. He had been rough; my head had knocked against the door frame and my vision had gone dark.

“You’re still stubborn as ever. Don’t think this means I’ll forgive you,” he said.

His voice had been loud, almost a shout, but I had heard something else inside it. I hadn’t known what it was, and I hadn’t had the strength to think about it.

I had leaned against the window, and then I couldn’t see anything.

When I woke again, I had been lying in a hospital bed.

The door had been pushed open.

A tiny figure had rushed in—a pink dress, two crooked little braids.

“Mama!”

Lena had climbed onto the bed and pressed against my chest, her small hand touching my face. “Mama, are you sick? I drew a picture for you, look—”

I still hadn’t had time to speak when a hand reached over and took the drawing from Lena’s hands.

Caspian had looked at Lena, then at me.