My wife’s male assistant spilled a cup of hot coffee all over me.
Before I could say anything, the assistant’s eyes welled up with tears and snot.
“Brother, I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I’ll wash your clothes for you.”
The hot coffee had scalded my arm badly, raising large blisters. I pushed the assistant away, telling him it was fine and that he didn’t need to bother.
Moments later, Sophia Bennett came storming in with an air of hostility.
“Nathan Cole, you’ve gone too far. Look at what you’ve done—Eric Dawson’s hand is red from the burn, and you even forced him to wash your clothes.”
“Do you even have a conscience?”
I frowned. Oh, fine—Eric Dawson’s hand had only been splashed with a few drops of hot coffee, leaving the skin slightly red, and yet Sophia’s heart ached for him.
And me? My arm was raw and bloody, but I didn’t deserve her concern.
She knew full well that I made my living with my hands—that I was a renowned performer—and that my hands were more important than anything else.
I raised my arm to show her, but all I got in return was a mocking laugh.
“Nathan, don’t tell me you think I’ll fall for your little sympathy act.”
“Hurry up and apologize to Eric Dawson.”
When I firmly refused, Sophia only said, “Fine.”
I thought that was the end of it, but when I next opened my eyes, I found myself inside an octagonal cage.
Outside stood Sophia Bennett and her group of girlfriends.
Her expression twisted with malice, Sophia pointed at a pitiful-looking Eric Dawson. “Apologize to him, or I’ll make you wish you were dead.”
I shook my head, then pulled out my phone.
“Brother, help me get revenge.”
…
Sophia’s friends covered their mouths and giggled.
Sophia herself laughed so hard she was out of breath.
“Nathan, what’s gotten into you? Your brother’s long dead—jumped from the twenty-eighth floor. Have you forgotten?”
“Or do you still think you’re that world-admired performer?”
“If you miss your brother that much, why don’t you just go to hell and join him?”
Her friends mocked me mercilessly, their heavily made-up faces hideous despite the expensive cosmetics.
I still remembered how, back when I first got together with Sophia, they had practically groveled before me—
secretly adding me on social media, sending me explicit photos in the middle of the night, and messaging things that would make anyone blush.
Things like “I’m so lonely tonight,” and the like.
To prove that my heart belonged only to Sophia, I showed her every such message.
And yet now, those same women had become her accomplices.
Sophia walked up to the edge of the cage, looking down on me from above.
“Nathan, I’ll give you one last chance—learn to behave.”
She stood tall, and I knew exactly why—she had always looked up at me, but now she’d found a chance to humiliate me.
I raised my hand, displaying the hideous wound on my arm.
“What did I do wrong? Was my mistake not kneeling to beg for your forgiveness?”
Sophia gave a cold hum. “Nathan, you’re insolent. Unrepentant. You deserve punishment.”
“Release the dogs!”
Two burly men appeared, each holding a fierce dog on a leash.
The moment the dogs saw me, they began barking furiously.
Eric Dawson gripped Sophia’s hand, his voice trembling. “Ms. Bennett, these dogs are too vicious. They’ll hurt Nathan—please, spare him.”
I nearly laughed out loud at that. Other people might not know what kind of man Eric was, but I knew all too well.
I knew these two dogs were his, and that he had trained them with me as their imaginary enemy. In his villa, he had over a dozen mannequins modeled exactly after me.
He even had my stolen clothes put on them so they would carry my scent.
