Chapter 8 The Man Behind the Mask

Aviah's POV

Now I could see that the man wore a mask, concealing his features. I couldn't make out his face at all, as if he was hiding something.

Just as I was about to attack him, the man who had helped me chase away Jeremy blocked my path.

"Ma'am, I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned.

Before I could respond, the masked man sitting on the couch spoke, his voice slightly hoarse. "I know her. You can leave us."

The other man shrugged, turned, and left, carefully closing the door behind him.

I took a deep breath to calm myself before speaking with a trembling voice, "Is it you?"

"It has to be you, right? That night six years ago... I remember the scar on your chest. I could never forget it. It's definitely you."

The masked man replied slowly, "Yes, it's me."

As he confirmed it, rage surged through me once again.

"I'll kill you!" I screamed. "It's all because of you that I've become like this! You ruined my entire life! You should die!"

He casually raised his arm to block my attack. I had never been in a fight before and didn't know how to fight. All I could do was flail my hands at him ineffectively.

The man spoke calmly, "You're blaming everything on me just to make yourself feel better."

"That night six years ago, you weren't yourself. If I'm not mistaken, you were drugged. I just happened to run into that room."

"In other words, if it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else. The outcome was already determined."

"Of course, I was at fault too, but you can't push all the blame onto me."

I was a reasonable person. Besides, six years had passed, and my emotions weren't as intense as they had been back then.

I calmed myself and noticed something strange. "Then who was originally supposed to be there?"

According to what he said, he wasn't the person arranged by August, nor was he arranged by Scarlett.

Six years ago, Scarlett had mentioned that she was worried the person August arranged wouldn't have an STD, so she specifically chose someone who did.

When I was examined, I had no diseases. At the time, I thought I was just lucky.

The masked man shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe he couldn't get in because I accidentally locked the door, or maybe there was another reason. I truly don't know the details. What happened that night was wrong, and I'll do my best to make it up to you."

Hearing his explanation, I realized he had stumbled into the situation by accident. "So that's your excuse for raping me? You took advantage of me when I was vulnerable. You're just another jerk."

"I have my own difficulties that you might not believe. I was drugged that night too. I only went into that room to hide, not expecting to find you there. When the drug took effect, I couldn't control myself."

I laughed coldly, "Do you think I would believe that?"

But looking at his attire, I fell into thought before speaking again. "Actually, maybe you're telling the truth. After all, as a male prostitute, you probably don't lack female company. Servicing so many women each day, you'd probably be sick of seeing them."

My words startled him. His eyes narrowed. "Male prostitute? You think I work here as a male prostitute?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "In the middle of winter, you're half-naked, wearing a mask, dressed so provocatively—you're clearly the bisexual type. That guy who just left was probably your client, wasn't he?"

"And only a small-time thug like you would have so many scars. What happened to your shoulder? Did you get stabbed in a fight?"

I was talking non-stop when the door opened again. I instinctively turned to see Jeremy entering with several men, led by the manager of Phantom Night.

Jeremy pointed at me. "That's her—the one who broke my twelve-thousand-dollar bottle of whiskey."

I quickly defended myself. "It wasn't me! The bottle was fine when I placed it on the table. You clearly had someone push it off!"

Jeremy smirked. "Me? Where's your proof? Everyone in the room saw that you didn't set the bottle down properly, causing it to break. Are you trying to deny it? You're going to pay for it today, one way or another!"

The manager of Phantom Night didn't bother investigating the truth. "Just pay for it. Since the bottle was in your hands when the problem occurred, you should compensate the customer for his loss."

"I... I don't have the money," I replied, my eyes welling up with tears.

Hearing this, the manager frowned, then looked me over thoughtfully. "In that case, we need a stripper tonight. You can work at the bar, and if the customers like you, I can cover the cost of the bottle first. You can pay me back gradually when you earn money."

A pole dancer? Having all those men stare at my body?

Let them touch me?

Just thinking about it made me want to die rather than submit.

As I stood there helplessly, the masked man behind me spoke up. "I'll pay for the bottle she broke. Now get out!"

The manager looked up at the man in the shadows, seemingly sensing his powerful presence, and quickly nodded, bowing as he retreated.

Before leaving, Jeremy glared at me and muttered, "You got lucky this time."

After they left, I collapsed onto the floor. "Thank you," I said.

But I quickly caught myself. Why was I thanking him?

If he was responsible for even a quarter of my current situation, that was still significant.

And I had carried his children. After causing me so much harm, why should he be living so comfortably?

With this thought, I found my confidence again. "You damn bastard, my current situation is half your fault. You need to take responsibility."

"What did you call me?" The man raised an eyebrow as he looked at me.

"Damn bastard. What's the matter? Don't like it? I have other names—how about 'worthless scum'? You need to compensate me. Someone in your line of work must make good money, right?"

I needed money desperately. I had to be forceful—if I couldn't maintain the upper hand, I wouldn't get much from him.

It might be shameful, but without money, I can't even cover the bills.

The man smirked coldly. "How much do you want? Name a figure."

He leaned back against the couch, appearing completely at ease.

I looked at his muscles and momentarily lost focus, raising five fingers.

"Five hundred million dollars?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I laughed derisively. If he could give me five hundred million dollars, I'd kneel before him. But how could a male prostitute earn that much?

"I don't care how much you earn in a month. From now on, you'll give me two-thirds of your salary as compensation for sleeping with me."

I figured that since I'd borne his children, asking him for money wasn't unreasonable.

My expected value was actually half his income. By asking for two-thirds, if he negotiated down to half, that would be acceptable.

If he didn't negotiate at all, even better.

The money would just be wasted in his hands anyway—better for me to manage it.

"I slept with you once, but you want to claim me for life? Unless... are you suggesting we get married?" he asked.

I blushed briefly, but quickly composed myself. He was a male prostitute; his private life must be chaotic, probably riddled with diseases.

If he infected me or my children, I'd regret it forever.

Realizing this, I changed my request. "Six months. For six months, you'll give me half of your monthly salary. That should be fair, right?"

"Money isn't an issue, but you're demanding it so self-righteously? And I'm curious—haven't you been with other men before?" he questioned.

I indignantly retorted, "What kind of woman do you think I am? From childhood until now, you're the only one who's had my body. Even my fiancé was supposed to wait until our wedding night. You got there first—you should consider yourself lucky."