Chapter 3
At seven fifty that night, I stood outside Room 8808 of the Grand Harmony Hotel.
I still wore the same suit from earlier, but my makeup had been touched up, a bright red lipstick adorning my lips, looking as if I were heading to a carefully planned date.
Only I knew how badly my hands had shaken while fixing my makeup.
The thick, carved wooden door loomed in front of me, looking like the entrance to hell.
Stepping inside could ruin me forever, but staying outside would mean my father's company filing for bankruptcy the next day—and my family falling apart for good.
I had no choice. I lifted my hand and pressed the doorbell.
Its crisp ring echoed through the empty corridor, a death knell in the silence.
The door swung open almost immediately.
James stood in the doorway, fresh out of the shower.
He wore a soft white hotel robe, the sash tied loosely around his waist, revealing a broad, toned chest and sharp collarbones.
His hair was half-dry, messy strands falling over his forehead, water droplets dripping from the ends and disappearing into the robe's neckline.
He smelled crisp and clean, cedar shower gel mingling with his own subtle cologne and something unmistakably him.
The proximity hit me like a punch. I stepped back half a step instinctively, looking away.
"You actually showed up?" he said, his voice still a little rough from the shower, tone unreadable as he leaned against the doorframe, giving me a lazy once-over.
"Like I'd dare not show up when Mr. Carter asks." My voice sounded calm and distant, as if I were talking about someone else entirely.
He gave a short, derisive laugh and stepped aside.
"Come in," he said.
I walked in. The room was a presidential suite, which was spacious and utterly luxurious, the kind of place that screamed money and power.
The city stretched out beneath the great glass pane, a velvet dark stitched through with rivers of fallen light.
But none of it had anything to do with me.
The cedar scent that used to intoxicate me now just made it hard to breathe.
"Want a drink?" he asked, but didn't wait for my answer. He went straight to the bar, poured himself some whiskey, the amber liquid swirling around a single ice sphere.
"No need, Mr. Carter." I stood my ground in the center of the room, refusing to sit, eyes fixed on the window. "Let's just talk business."
"Business?" James took a slow sip of his whiskey, sauntering over to stand right in front of me.
He was so close I could catch the faint scent of whiskey on his breath, mixed with the lingering warmth from his shower, brushing softly against my cheek.
He leaned down, his voice dropping to a low, malicious whisper. "Do you really think I asked you here to talk business?"
His breath and voice wrapped around me like a snake, sending a shiver down my spine.
I pulled my head away sharply, my voice turning cold despite my best efforts. "If you're not sincere about working with us, Mr. Carter, there's no point wasting each other's time."
"Sincere?" James straightened up, swirling his whiskey, his eyes cold and mocking. "Ms. Warren, you're the one begging now. Shouldn't you be the one showing me what you're willing to do?"
He paused, his gaze drifting slowly down my tense face, unashamedly scanning every inch of me.
Then, he pointed to the loose sash of his robe with the hand holding the whiskey glass.
"Please me," he said, his voice low and commanding.
Those two words sounded light as air, but they seared into my ears like a red-hot iron, leaving me stunned and burning inside.
"If you can please me, maybe I'll consider tossing a few crumbs your way and give your company that's about to go under a little charity," he said.
The last thread of my sanity snapped.
"James!" I raised my hand, swinging it with all my strength toward his arrogant, contemptuous face.
The slap sliced through the air, fast and unforgiving.
But before it could hit, he caught my wrist, holding it tight and steady.
His grip was strong, making my wrist ache from the pressure.
I let out a painful gasp, tried to pull away, but he didn't budge.
He stared at me, his eyes turning icy cold, filled with a warning and a flicker of anger I couldn't understand.
He snarled, each word sharp with malice, "Lily, don't push your luck.
"Do you think you're still the spoiled princess of the Warren family who could order me around three years ago?
"Wake up. Now, you're the one begging me."
His words were like a poisoned dagger, stabbing straight into the most tender, bleeding part of my heart.
The pain had me shaking so hard I could barely see straight.
He was right—the Warrens had fallen, my father lying broken in a hospital bed, my mother weeping until the world blurred at the edges.
I stood there in my most polished suit, feeling like a clown, letting him humiliate me without resistance.
Dignity meant nothing when my family's survival was on the line, when my parents' hopes rested on my shoulders, when my home was falling apart.
Before I knew it, tears welled up in my eyes, but I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood, forcing the bitterness back.
I couldn't cry. Crying would mean losing completely.
I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them, the last glimmer of light in my eyes was gone, replaced by a barren, empty calm.
"What do you want?" My voice was dry, hoarse, and terrifyingly calm.
James let go of my wrist, stepping back to watch me, as if savoring my final struggle and surrender.
He swirled his glass, took a sip, then slowly let out a word that sent a shiver down my spine. "Strip."
Just one word. So light, almost weightless.
But it hit me like a ton of bricks, smashing my pride, my shame, and everything I thought I was into pieces.
I stared at this man whom I'd loved for seven years, the one whose name filled every page of my youth, the boy I'd once thought was kind and bright.
Now, he was crushing my dignity in the cruelest, most despicable way, stomping it into the ground without mercy.
My heart felt empty, aching until it went numb.
It turned out that when pain reached its peak, one didn't feel anything at all.