Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly exerted force—"Sizzle!"
The thin hospital gown was roughly ripped open at the collar, buttons popping off and rolling to the floor. Large swathes of my chest were exposed to the cold air and the man's aggressive gaze. I screamed and instinctively curled up my arms to cover myself.
"Now you know to cover up?" Liam sneered, grabbing my hands as I tried to push them away and easily pressing them above my head. His body pressed down, bringing a suffocating sense of oppression and a familiar, yet now utterly repulsive, masculine scent.
"You sent those kinds of texts just to get me to sleep with you, didn't you? Now what are you pretending to be, this virtuous woman?" His burning lips and tongue, carrying a punitive tone, landed heavily on my neck and collarbone, leaving a sticky, wet sensation and a slight stinging pain. It wasn't a kiss; it was a brand, an humiliation.
"Let me go! Liam, you bastard! Let me go!" I struggled desperately, kicking my powerless legs, tears streaming down my face, a mixture of endless fear and nausea.
Hot tears dripped onto the back of Liam 's hand, and he froze abruptly.
He looked up and saw my face covered in tears. The surging lust and anger in his eyes vanished as if doused with ice water, leaving only deeper frustration and...contempt.
"Disappointing." He spat, turned over and left without hesitation, standing by the bed straightening his slightly disheveled robe, his eyes coldly looking down at my trembling body curled up like a rag doll.
"What a pretentious act." His tone was extremely sarcastic, every word like a knife. "You were already worn out by hundreds of men in prison, and now you're putting on this act of being raped for who are you trying to impress? Clara , with your body, you're only good enough for me to vent on occasionally. Don't overestimate yourself."
I pulled the tattered blanket over myself, trembling violently, my ears ringing, and I could barely hear what he was saying. Only an overwhelming cold and a feeling of nausea enveloped me.
"Tomorrow, at nine o'clock in the morning, go to the police station yourself." Liam finally gave the order, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Don't force me to personally escort you there; the scene... I'm afraid you can't handle it."
Just then, his phone rang again. The unusual ringtone sounded particularly jarring in the quiet bedroom.
Liam answered immediately, her tone instantly switching to a gentle and anxious one I had never heard before: " Vanessa ? What's wrong? Don't cry, tell me slowly... What? Had a nightmare? Don't be afraid, I'm coming right away!"
He didn't even glance at me again, gently reassuring the person on the other end of the phone as he hurriedly turned and left. The door slammed shut again, knocking off a patch of peeling paint from the corner of the wall.
After confirming he was gone, I gasped for breath like a dying fish. A long while later, I mustered my last remaining strength to pick up the tattered hospital gown from the floor and barely managed to put it on. Then, I moved to the wardrobe.
The moment I opened the wardrobe door, I was completely stunned.
The closet was overflowing with a dazzling array of items, all in Vanessa 's style—sexy silk nightgowns, brightly colored slip dresses, and various styles of black stockings… My fingers traced the fabric, feeling its cool, smooth texture. In the far corner of the closet, on a solitary hanger, hung the faded old tracksuit I wore five years ago when I went to prison.
The huge wardrobe doesn't have an inch of space for me right now.
An indescribable sense of sorrow and anger surged to my head. I turned around and searched the room, finally finding a sharp paper cutter in the desk drawer.
Back in front of the wardrobe, I stared at the clothes that belonged to Vanessa , which seemed to be mocking me for taking over her place, and picked up the scissors.
"Snap—Snap—!"
Cutting these pieces seemed to sever the absurdity of the past five years, cutting off the last laughable connection between herself and Liam . The sound of the silk tearing was crisp and resolute; black, red, purple... fragments fell to the ground like withered flowers of evil.
After doing all this, I was almost completely exhausted. But a voice inside me urged me: Leave, you must leave.
I clutched the small box containing the broken jade pendant tightly to my chest, and then hastily packed away my few remaining belongings—a tracksuit, an old photo album, and a dried-up lipstick—with an old cloth. Then, I maneuvered my wheelchair and quietly opened the door.
In the stillness of the night, only a few dim wall lamps remained in the villa. I carefully descended the wheelchair ramp, my heart pounding like a drum.
However, I froze just as the wheelchair reached the edge of the first-floor living room.
The living room light had been turned on at some point, and in the bright light, a figure dressed in an elegant silk suit sat quietly in the center of a messy sofa, gracefully sipping a cup of steaming black tea.
It was Mrs. Foster .
She seemed to have been there for a while, and perhaps even... witnessed some of the unpleasantness. At this moment, she put down her teacup, raised her well-maintained yet shrewd eyes, and looked at me, her face bearing the same unfathomable gentle expression as always.
My heart clenched suddenly, and my fingers instinctively tightened around the box in my arms.
Taking a deep breath without making a sound, I forced myself to calm down, maneuvered my wheelchair forward a few steps, lowered my eyelids, and spoke in the most obedient and gentle tone possible:
"Auntie, what brings you here so late?"
