The soft click of the bedroom door closing behind him echoed in the cavernous silence, a sound that seemed to seal Lin Wanwan's fate. For an extended period, Lin Wanwan stayed motionless, the plush carpet beneath her worn heels evoking an unfamiliar environment. The sheer opulence of the room was suffocating, a stark, cruel contrast to the squalor of her anxieties and the sterile environment of Xiaoyu's hospital ward.
Then, the dam of her forced composure broke. A choked sob escaped her lips, and she stumbled towards the enormous bed, her legs barely supporting her. Sinking onto the edge of the silken expanse, she buried her face in her hands, the tears she'd fought so hard to suppress finally streaming free. Her tears were filled with fear, shame, and a profound fatigue that permeated her entire being. She had sold herself, body and spirit, for Xiaoyu's chance at life. The relief of meeting his immediate medical needs felt like a fragile raft amidst a vast ocean of self-loathing.
How had her life come to this? Just a few years ago, she had been a hopeful university student, her future bright with dreams of books and teaching. Now, she was a commodity, a pawn in a rich man's game, about to pay an unthinkable price in a stranger's gilded cage.
But even as the sobs wracked her body, a steely resolve began to solidify within her. She thought of Xiaoyu's trusting smile, his unwavering belief in her. She had made a promise, not just to this cold, enigmatic man, but to her brother. She would not break. She would endure.
With a shuddering breath, Wanwan pushed herself up. Her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrored wardrobe was a pale, tear-streaked mess, her simple black dress looking utterly out of place in the luxurious surroundings. He had asked her to freshen up. He had given her a command, and now she had to obey it.
She moved towards the frosted glass door he had indicated, her steps led. The en suite bathroom was larger than her entire living room. Gleaming marble stretched in every direction, reflecting the soft, ambient lighting. A vast, sunken bathtub beckoned invitingly, and a separate glass-enclosed shower stall boasted an array of chrome fixtures that looked more like spaceship controls than plumbing. Fluffy white towels were piled high, and an assortment of expensive-looking toiletries in minimalist bottles lined the marble countertop.
It was a world away from her own cramped bathroom, with its perpetually dripping tap and cracked linoleum. The sheer, casual wealth on display was another layer of intimidation.
Mechanically, Wanwan turned on a tap in the shower. The water pressure was immense, the temperature was was instantly, perfectly warm. She stripped off her dress, the fabric feeling like a constricting second skin. Stepping under the cascade of water, she scrubbed at her skin almost violently, as if trying to wash away not just the grime of the city but the taint of the bargain she had made. The scented soap was rich and luxurious, but it brought her no comfort.
She dried herself with one of the impossibly soft towels, her movements robotic. There was a plush bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, made of a fabric so decadent it felt like a caress against her raw nerves. She wrapped herself in it, the unfamiliar weight and texture a constant reminder of where she was and why.
Emerging from the bathroom, her hair damp and clinging to her neck, she felt marginally cleaner but no less terrified. The bedroom seemed even larger and colder now. The city lights outside glittered like a million indifferent eyes, witnesses to her impending degradation.
She didn't know how long she waited. Minutes stretched into an eternity. Every creak of the building, every distant siren, made her jump. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the door, listening for his return. The silence tormented her, filled with the frantic pounding of her own heart and the terrifying projections of her imagination.
Then, the door opened.
He stood framed in the doorway, a dark, imposing silhouette. He had taken off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his white shirt at the collar, revealing a strong column of throat. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, exposing lean, powerful wrists. He looked less like a businessman now and more like a predator, relaxed yet utterly in control.
His eyes, those dark, unreadable pools, swept over her, taking in her damp hair, the borrowed bathrobe, and her tense posture. He said nothing, simply closed the door behind him, the soft click once again sealing her fate.
He moved towards the bed with a slow, deliberate grace that was both captivating and terrifying. Wanwan's breath hitched in her throat. She wanted to shrink away, to disappear, but she was frozen, pinned by his gaze.
He stopped before her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the faint, lingering scent of his cologne, now mingled with something else, something purely masculine. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, then tangling gently in her damp hair. His touch was surprisingly soft, yet it sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated fear through her.
"You look… better," he murmured, his voice a low, husky sound that seemed to vibrate through her very bones. His eyes held hers, and in their depths, she saw a flicker of something she couldn't decipher—possession, perhaps, or a chilling kind of satisfaction.
Wanwan could only nod, her throat too tight for words.
What followed was a blur of shame and sensation, a detached out-of-body experience where Lin Wanwan, the frightened sister, watched as a stranger inhabited her skin. He was not overtly brutal, not in the way she might have read about in lurid novels. There was no overt violence, no angry words. Instead, there was a chilling efficiency, a practiced expertise that was almost more dehumanizing. He moved with an unnerving confidence, his hands and mouth exploring her with a possessiveness that brooked no resistance.
She was pliant in his arms, her body responding to his touch with a betrayal she couldn't control, even as her mind recoiled in horror and shame. She closed her eyes, focusing on Xiaoyu's face, on the sterile white walls of the hospital, on anything but the reality of what was happening to her. The silk sheets felt cold against her heated skin, the city lights outside a distant, mocking panorama. His scent filled her nostrils, his weight pressed her down, and the only sounds were their breathing, the rustle of fabric, and the muffled roar of the city far below.
It was a transaction, clinically executed. He took what he had paid for, and she, in turn, endured, clinging to the knowledge that this was for Xiaoyu. Each touch, each kiss, each moment of forced intimacy was a nail hammered into the coffin of her innocence and her self-respect. But with each nail, she told herself, Xiaoyu was one step closer to health.
When it was finally over, he moved away from her, his breathing already evening out. He didn't speak, didn't offer words of comfort or apology—not that she expected any. He simply turned his back to her, a dark shape in the vast bed, and seemed to fall asleep almost instantly, as if what had just transpired was as mundane to him as signing a business contract.
Wanwan lay rigid, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, tears silently tracing paths down her temples and into her hair. Despite the absence of his body weight, the lingering phantom sensation of his touch made her skin crawl. Shame, profound and all-consuming, washed over her in suffocating waves. She felt hollowed out, defiled, a thing used and discarded.
Sleep was impossible. Every nerve in her body thrummed with a mixture of exhaustion and a desperate, wired energy. The first pale fingers of dawn began to creep through the massive windows, painting the opulent room in shades of grey. The city below was slowly stirring to life, oblivious to the silent torment unfolding in the penthouse high above.
As the light grew, so did Wanwan's desperate urge to flee. She couldn't bear to be in this room, in this bed, when he awoke. She needed to escape, to breathe air that wasn't tainted with his scent, his presence.
Carefully, inch by agonizing inch, she slid out from under the silken covers, her limbs stiff and aching. He didn't stir. His breathing was deep and regular. She tiptoed across the plush carpet, her heart pounding in her ears, terrified of making a sound that would wake him.
Her clothes lay in a crumpled heap where she had discarded them. She pulled on her simple black dress, the fabric feeling rough and blessedly familiar against her skin. Her handbag was still on the edge of the sofa where she had left it.
As she gathered her meager belongings, her eyes fell on the bedside table on his side. His wallet lay there, thick and made of expensive leather. An idea, desperate and perhaps foolish, sparked in her mind. He had called this a transaction. She had received payment for her services. She would leave her form of "payment."
Her purse contained very little money—a few crumpled bills and some loose change. It was all she had left in the world after paying for the taxi to the Crimson Pavilion. With trembling fingers, she took it all out, every last cent. She hesitated for a moment, then, with a surge of defiant pride, she placed the small pile of money on the polished surface of his bedside table, next to his opulent wallet. It was a pittance, a laughable gesture in the face of the fortune he had just spent on her brother, but it was hers. It was a symbol, however pathetic, that the present was a transaction, and she had, in her own small way, contributed.
Then, clutching her handbag, Lin Wanwan turned and fled. She slipped out of the bedroom, through the silent, opulent apartment, her bare feet making no sound on the cold marble floors. She found the private elevator, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. As the doors whispered shut, whisking her away from the gilded cage, she didn't look back.
She stumbled out of the deserted underground garage and then into the cool, gray dawn of the city. The air, fresh and untainted, filled her lungs. She had survived the night. But as she hurried away, a lone, small figure against the backdrop of the awakening metropolis, Lin Wanwan knew that a part of her had been lost forever in that penthouse, sacrificed on the altar of her brother's life. And she had a chilling premonition that her escape was only temporary. A man like him wouldn't let his new acquisition simply walk away.