Chapter 3
The elevator numbers kept flickering, each change feeling like a countdown to hell.
With a ding, the elevator reached the top floor.
Cassandra was roughly dragged all the way by two burly men and tossed straight into a dim, opulent suite.
The door slammed shut behind her, locking with a heavy, final click.
Cassandra, ignoring the pain, desperately stumbled and crawled toward the door.
She pounded on it with wild panic, shouting, "Open the door. Let me out. Please, I'm begging you. Let me out."
No one answered. She could only hear footsteps fading away down the hall.
Fear crashed over her like a tidal wave. Cassandra slid down against the door, hugging her knees to her chest, trembling all over.
The room was dark, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning outside that brought a cold, pale glow.
Every second felt like torture. Cassandra had no idea how long she'd been trapped when, suddenly, an electronic beep sounded at the door.
Cassandra's head snapped up, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of her throat.
The door swung open. A tall, shadowy figure stepped inside.
Backlit by the hallway, Cassandra couldn't make out his face, but she caught a strong whiff of alcohol, mixed with an icy cedar scent.
It wasn't that sleazy Perrin Grant.
This man's presence was even more powerful and terrifying than Edward's.
"Who the hell are you? Stay back." Cassandra grabbed the lamp beside her and threw it at him as hard as she could.
With a sharp crack, the man easily knocked the lamp aside, and it shattered on the floor.
He looked drunk, his steps were shaky, but he moved lightning-fast. He staggered forward, and in a flash, had Cassandra pressed down on the soft bed.
"Get off me. I have AIDS. I'm diseased. Don't touch me," Cassandra screamed hysterically, flailing her arms. Her nails scratched his neck, drawing blood.
The man, clearly angered, effortlessly pinned Cassandra's frantic arms above her head with one hand. His voice rumbled deep and hoarse through the darkness. "Shut up."
His words were icy, as if dragged from the depths of a frozen cellar, yet beneath that chill lurked a dangerously restrained desire.
Before Cassandra could cry out again, his alcohol-soaked kiss descended on her, rough and relentless, silencing her completely.
Despair washed over Cassandra. The ripping of fabric sounded harsh in the quiet night.
Cassandra went limp, no longer fighting back.
She lay there like a fish out of water, barely alive, her empty eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, soaking into her hair.
'Edward, you bastard,' Cassandra thought bitterly.
That night, the rain poured down so hard outside. It masked all the shattered sobs and broken cries from within the room.
When Cassandra woke up again, it was already noon the next day.
The curtains were drawn so tightly that not a single ray of light could get in.
Cassandra tried to move, but her whole body felt like it had been run over by a truck.
Every muscle screamed in pain, and the unbearable memories of last night crashed over her in waves, making her stomach twist with nausea.
The room was empty, and the man was gone.
On the nightstand sat a blank check, like a silent insult.
Cassandra stared at the blank check for a while, then suddenly laughed.
But as she laughed, the tears came, streaming down her face until her laughter faded into silent sobs.
Cassandra walked barefoot into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
The scalding water beat down on her skin, turning it red, but she felt nothing.
Cassandra grabbed a loofah and scrubbed herself again and again, so hard her skin broke and blood oozed out. Still, she didn't stop.
'Dirty. So dirty,' she thought.
No matter how much she washed, it felt like the mark of shame would never come off.
Cassandra scrubbed for two hours straight, until the bathroom was thick with steam and she was on the verge of passing out. Only then did she finally turn off the water.
When she stepped out, she saw a brand-new outfit neatly arranged on the sofa at the foot of the bed.
Even the underwear was included, and everything fit her like it was made for her.
'Probably his idea of payment for the night,' Cassandra thought bitterly.
She put on the clothes expressionlessly, tore the check into tiny pieces, and tossed them into the trash.
Then, without looking back, she walked out of the room that had devoured her dignity.