His weight crushed me. His thrusts came again and again, grunts tearing from his throat. I lay still, staring into nothing. His palm pressed against my face, shoving hard while he moaned louder, finishing inside me. Then he yanked out and grabbed my hair, jerking my head back with cruel force. A wicked smile curved his lips.
“Maybe I’ll come back to you. I like little sluts like you.”
Rage broke through my numbness. My hand shook as I slapped him.
“You dare hit me?” He punched me straight in the face, his fist landing hard against my cheek. Pain exploded. My head snapped to the side.
“Get off me, you filthy pig!” I spat.
He stood, looking down on me. “It was nice doing business with you. Maybe I’ll drop by your shop. I know where to find you now. Maybe I’ll even tell my son about you—he’d know what to do withyou as well. And if you dare to talk to anyone about this, then your Damian is a dead man. You’ll find your own way out,” he said, and disappeared into the bathroom without another word.
Tears burned. And then—nothing. Just emptiness. Fear tightened around my throat. I felt naked and stripped bare before myself. I wanted to scream. To smash something. Instead, I yanked my dress down over my shaking body and stumbled to my feet. I left a shape of myself on that couch; the rest walked out on shaking legs. I fled the room in tears.
Out of the hotel.
Into a taxi.
Back home.
My phone buzzed over and over in my hand. Messages from Damian flashed across the screen.
20:10 – Damian:Daisy, where are you?
20:12 – Damian:Is everything okay?
20:15 – Damian:We’re waiting for you.
20:18 – Damian:Why did you go home again?
I froze. My pulse spiked. How did he know? Was someone watching me?
20:20 – Damian:Daisy, why the hell aren’t you answering?
20:21 – Daisy:I don’t feel well. Went home. Talk tomorrow.
20:23 – Damian:Daisy, you’re the guest of honor. You have to come!
20:25 – Damian:Daisy!
20:27 – Damian:I damn well can’t leave here!
The phone lit up with his name. I declined the call and shoved it deep into my bag.
20:29 – Damian:Pick up!
He called four more times.
20:41 – Damian:I would have needed you here.
The next morning, I emailed in sick and spent the following days locked inside my apartment. Guilt ate at me, tangled with doubt over whether I’d done the right thing. I still couldn’t process what had happened.
Ference knocked each day, his tone calm, professional. “Miss Daisy, I’m here to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m sick, Ference. It’s contagious. Please go,” I whispered through the door, brittle and small.
I couldn’t let anyone see the bruise on my face—the mark Mason had left behind. Damian never came himself. He was probably angry I’d stood him up. Or maybe I simply didn’t matter.
Online, I found photos of the gala. Damian stood beside Silvia, smiling—composed, perfect. The way he looked at her, his hand at her back, carved something sharp into me.
