Isabella, clutching the tip her mother had earned ad hoc, knocked at the door with a glass of water in her hand. Delivering water wasn’t a big deal, yet her mother had managed to squeeze five hundred bucks out of that man for it. Isabella was determined to return the money.

To her astonishment, the door opened as soon as she touched it.

“Sir, your friend asked me to deliver you a glass of water,” Isabella politely said from the doorway.

The room was eerily silent, giving her the unsettling feeling that no one was inside. After waiting for about a minute without receiving any response, she pushed the door open and stepped in.

The room was dark, with only a dim yellow wall light glowing beside the bed. Guided by the faint light, Isabella spotted a man lying on the large bed not far away. As she moved closer, she nearly gasped.

Wasn’t this the same man she had encountered earlier when delivering wine to the private room?

Her lips pursed as realization dawned—so this was why he had casually tipped five hundred dollars. The wine he and his friends had ordered earlier had already cost over six figures. He was clearly a tycoon.

But upon closer inspection, he was also incredibly handsome. His white shirt was undone at the chest, revealing his toned body. Isabella's grip on the water glass tightened.

She couldn’t help but kneel down, carefully observing him from the edge of the bed.

Just as she was lost in thought, a large hand suddenly swung down. She narrowly dodged it.

Patting her chest to calm her racing heart, she realized the man on the bed hadn’t woken up. Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief. Being caught staring at him would’ve been beyond embarrassing.

Yet, her eyes lingered on him. Apart from this man, the only other time she had seen such an athletic physique was during her college days—when Andrew Dust was swimming. Memories of that graceful young man resurfaced, stirring a faint longing.

“Don’t go, Lily,” the man murmured hoarsely, pulling Isabella out of her reverie.

The name 'Lily' struck a chord. It reminded her of that popular TV drama she and Rosa had ranted about all summer. They had been outraged by the lead actress’s poor performance, especially when she won the ‘Best Newcomer Award’ over the far more talented second female lead.

Looking at this man now, though, Isabella understood. With his background, awards like that were probably just playthings.

But what did any of this have to do with her? She was merely there to deliver water.

She scribbled a few words on a post-it note, tucked it along with the five bills into the wallet on the nightstand, and prepared to leave.

Just as she was getting up, a firm hand gripped her wrist. She froze.

William’s dark eyes bore into her. There was an unusual reddish hue to his face, his breathing heavy. Something was wrong.

Damn that Ray—he must have spiked his drink.

“I...” Isabella started, but before she could finish, William flipped her over and pinned her beneath him.

Under the dim lamplight, she took in his perfectly sculpted face. Even after staring at it several times, she felt she hadn’t seen enough. For a moment, she was speechless.

Sensing he was not quite himself, she cautiously asked, “Are you alright?”

His warm breath brushed her face, making her skin tingle.

William fought to control himself, but his body was burning. The drug was taking hold, and he needed a release.

Isabella noticed the change in his state and tried to shield herself. However, her nervous attempt backfired—her movements caused her neckline to slip slightly, exposing a teasing glimpse of her skin.

William’s eyes darkened with desire. His voice was low and hoarse.

“Congratulations, woman. You’ll be my only bedmate from now on.”

Isabella inwardly rolled her eyes. Narcissistic much? All dressed up with nowhere to go. She hadn’t known delusions of grandeur could be this severe.

Regardless of her protests, William paid no heed. His lips descended onto hers, silencing her.

Startled, she raised her hand to push him away, but he caught it effortlessly. As he took control, she found herself surrendering, losing strength beneath him.

When she finally came to her senses, a surge of humiliation washed over her. Her body trembled. She raised her hand and slapped him.

Slap!

The sharp sound shattered the tension in the room.

A dark red mark appeared on William’s handsome face. His eyes flickered with violence.

Isabella dared not look directly at the imprint she had left. The pain in her chin, however, forced her to meet his gaze. Her distorted face reflected in his black pupils.

“Playing hard to get?” His voice was cold, his hand tightening on her chin. “I detest it.”

Like a storm, William swept over her. She had no power to resist—her only instinct was to cling to his back as if that would shield her.

She had no idea how much time had passed when a strange numbness spread through her body. Her eyes were vacant, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath her.

Everything was ruined.

Tears slid silently from the corners of Isabella’s eyes. She knew—she and Andrew Dust would never be. Any hope she held for the future was gone.

She closed her eyes in despair and endured the pain in silence.

---

After what felt like an eternity, Isabella awoke groggily. Her body ached as though her bones had been crushed.

Moving slowly, she sat up, eyes scanning the room’s wreckage with dry, emotionless eyes.

As she dressed, each movement reminded her of the previous night’s horror. Her gaze fell upon the man who had taken everything from her.

Hatred surged. She wanted to tear him apart.

Her eyes landed on a fruit knife lying on the table, gleaming under the moonlight. Her heart raced as she picked it up.

Through gritted teeth, she whispered, “Bastard... Die!”

As soon as the words left her lips, William passed out completely.

Her hand trembled violently. Panic overwhelmed her. Had she... killed him?

What should she do?

Run.

The only thought in her mind was to flee.

Frantically, she pressed the elevator button—it didn’t respond. She dashed down the stairwell instead.

As she reached the lobby, she collided with someone—Lady Stella.

“What’s all this blood on you?”

Isabella looked down, realizing her shirt was splattered with blood from her desperate escape.

She quickly hid her hand behind her back, cold sweat breaking out all over her body.

Lady Stella gave her a knowing smile, as though everything was unfolding exactly as she had planned. Her golden son-in-law was within her grasp.

“Mummy, I’m tired. I’m going to sleep,” Isabella muttered hastily, avoiding her eyes.

Before Lady Stella could ask more, Isabella slammed her door shut.

In the shower, she scrubbed her body fiercely, trying to wash away the filth and horror. The water poured over her for half an hour until exhaustion overtook her.

She slumped to the floor, her mind swirling with fear.

What if he wasn’t dead?

What if he could still be saved?

Driven by that thought, Isabella dressed and hurried back upstairs.

Standing before the door, her heart raced. Should she go in?

Summoning her last shred of courage, she pushed the door open and stepped into the dark room. Her fingers fumbled for the light switch as her heart pounded violently in her chest.