Chapter 2

I couldn't stop thinking "if she'd just kicked the bucket sooner" over and over.

One of Vincent's subordinates flinched at my words, stammering, "Then... then why don't you take better care of Mr. Moretti?"

Wait, should I take better care of him?

I remembered how Vincent would always touch me, kiss me, his caresses growing more intense each time, as if he wanted to pull me into himself, to consume me completely.

"Sophia, let me have you," he'd murmur, his voice thick with longing.

What was it that he truly wanted from me?

Every time I got scared and shoved him away, I saw disappointment flicker in his eyes, their redness betraying how much he was holding back.

And at that moment, I finally understood.

If that woman could please him, then so could I.

With darkness falling fast, I slipped quietly downstairs, careful not to make a sound.

The place was usually crawling with guards, but at that moment it was empty. No one tried to stop me.

Even the old guard dog I'd raised myself didn't peep.

I felt pretty clever, honestly.

I was useful after all.

Relying on memory, I made my way to the docks. Some unfamiliar guys emerged from the shadows.

"Hey, pretty lady, who are you looking for?" one of them called out.

"Do you guys need someone to take care of you?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

They burst out laughing, their eyes sharp as knives. One of them grabbed my hair.

"Who wouldn't want a freebie?" he sneered.

One of them started groping me, another forced me to my knees, and someone else was already unbuckling his belt.

But they were way too rough, and they reeked. I was done. I couldn't take it anymore.

"Let go of me. I'm not serving you anymore!" I yelled, struggling to get free.

The men just laughed even louder, and one of them slapped me hard across the face.

As I struggled, my wrist wound burst open again, blood streaming down my arm.

The blood just fired them up even more. One of them yanked my shirt wide open, showing off my perfect skin.

Seriously, when had I ever been treated this way?

I couldn't hold it back anymore. I burst out crying, loud and messy.

"I'll make Vincent kill you all," I screamed through my tears.

The men laughed.

One of the guys got right up in my face and licked me.

"Yeah, sure. If Mr. Moretti actually does what you say, I'll get down and lick your feet myself," he jeered.

I shut my eyes tight, utterly defeated.

Suddenly, the gunshots shattered the silence.

Blood sprayed across the dock.

When I opened my eyes again, the men were already sprawled on the cold ground.

Vincent stood a few feet away, his black gun still smoking in his hand.

Half his face was swallowed by darkness.

The guy who'd licked my face found Vincent pressing his boot down hard on him.

There was a sickening crunch. The force was enough to crush bone.

"Lick," Vincent ordered coldly.

Before the man could even react, Vincent stomped down, over and over, grinding him into the ground like a filthy bug, until he stopped moving for good.

Vincent's chest was rising and falling, so pissed he wouldn't even look at me. Still, he threw his jacket over my shoulders.

"Explain," Vincent snapped.

"I'm not useless. I can take care of you, too," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Vincent paused, his gaze deep as he looked down at me.

He shoved me into the car, and we tore off into the night.

When we got home, he slammed me hard onto the bed.

He lit up a cigarette and exhaled smoke right in my face, making me hack and sputter.

Metal cuffs snapped around my wrists, his shadow looming over me, trapping me completely.

"Oh? So, you want to take care of me?" Vincent said, his voice cold and sharp.

Vincent started unbuttoning his shirt, wedging his knee between my legs, his eyes cold, no warmth at all.

"Then why didn't you come straight to me?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I wanted to cry again.

Vincent was lying.

He deliberately had them let me go.

He stood there, watching while those guys bullied me.

The blade of the knife slid down my neck, slicing my clothes apart inch by inch until they fell in tatters at my feet.

"Don't cry," Vincent said, his voice low and rough.

Vincent brushed my tears away with his thumb, his breathing growing even heavier.

"That just turns me on even more," he growled.

He slammed me into the bed, his kisses rough and punishing, as if he was taking out all his anger on me.

Again and again, he didn't stop until I was screaming myself hoarse.

"Vincent, am I useful to you?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

Did you still want me dead?

That timid question seemed to snap him out of it. Vincent shot out of the room like he was running from a ghost.

"I'm going to get a doctor," he said, his voice clipped and tense.

But instead of the doctor, it was Isabelle who walked in.

She looked at me. My body was marked up by Vincent, her eyes wild with envy.

She asked, "Sophia, why?

"Why does Mr. Moretti always treat you so differently?"

She had to bend over backwards just to get Vincent to even glance her way.

But for me, it was effortless. I always got more from him than she ever could, no matter how hard she tried.

"Mr. Moretti's too soft-hearted," Isabelle said.

Her tone shifted, turning downright venomous.

She said, "He keeps letting you off the hook, Sophia Bennett. Let me do what he can't. Let me get rid of you for him."

When I saw her whip out a syringe, I panicked and sent the medicine box flying.

"You're trying to hurt me!" I shouted, my voice shaking.

But the next second, Isabelle just flashed me a twisted smile, staggered back, and slammed herself into the glass shelf, crashing hard to the floor.

"Sophia, you owe Mr. Moretti ten years of your life," she shrieked, her voice sharp with accusation.

And she didn't hesitate for a second. She plunged the needle straight into her own neck.

When everyone rushed in, the place was a disaster, with broken glass everywhere. Isabelle was covered in cuts and scratches, her face frozen in shock, tears streaming down as she trembled.

The contents of the syringe had been injected into her neck, and she watched in horror as crimson blood slowly trickled out between her legs.

"Mr. Moretti, our baby!" she screamed, her voice raw with grief.

This time, even Vincent, who'd been through hell and back, was completely stunned, his expression changing in a flash, all the color draining from his face.

"Sophia, how long are you going to keep acting crazy?" he snapped, his voice shaking with fury.

"I swear, it wasn't me. She was the one trying to hurt me," I blurted out, my voice shaking.

But before I could even finish, Vincent's hand suddenly closed around my throat, squeezing tight.

He didn't care about anything I said.

"Ten years. Why are you still so messed up? Why can't you just get better?" he shouted, his voice raw with anger.

His grip kept getting tighter, and everyone else just stood frozen. Nobody would ever dare to cross Vincent when he was this furious.

"Don't blame Ms. Bennett. She's just having one of her episodes. She didn't mean to... kill me," Isabelle said, her voice trembling as she played the victim.

Isabelle pretended to hold him back, but everyone could see how hurt she was.

I couldn't breathe, my hands instinctively clawing at his hand around my throat, desperate for air.

"Take her downstairs," Vincent ordered, his voice cold and absolute.

Vincent's word was law.

And just like that, I was dragged down to the basement interrogation room.

The walls were streaked with dried blood.

The harsh lights stabbed my eyes, and Vincent stood in the shadows, his face hidden. All I could hear was his voice, chilling and sinister.

"Bring the guard dog up," he ordered, his tone icy and commanding.