Chapter 18
Dawn's POV
The moment I stepped into Francis's private condo, an uneasy heaviness clung to the air. The pungent scent of alcohol hit me first, sharp and overwhelming. But there was another odor too—flesh, sweat, and sex. My chest tightened instantly. No. No, it couldn't be. Francis wouldn't—he wouldn't do this to me.
But the muffled moans, the shameless cries of pleasure that echoed from behind the closed door of his bedroom, clawed at my chest like knives. My heart pounded violently, my body trembling as if it already knew the truth I was still fighting to deny.
I pushed the door open, my hands clammy, my breath caught in my throat.
And then I saw it.
Francis. My fiancé. The man I had worked so hard to capture, the man I believed was mine—standing bare, drenched in sweat, thrusting into a girl while four other half-naked women sprawled on his sheets, their laughter and moans filling the air like a cruel orchestra.
My world stopped.
"Francis!!" The scream tore out of me before I could even stop it.
For a heartbeat, the room stilled. He looked up, his eyes finding mine. But instead of guilt… instead of shame… there was nothing. Just annoyance. A flicker of irritation, like my presence was nothing more than a bothersome fly buzzing in his ear.
Then, as if to spite me, he didn't even pause. He turned back to the girl beneath him and slammed into her harder, his hand gripping her waist, his lips curling into a lazy, mocking smirk. He was staring right at me as he pleasured himself with another woman.
My legs nearly gave way.
"Francis… you're cheating on me? And you don't even feel remorseful? Not guilty?" My voice cracked, breaking into pieces just like my heart.
He scoffed. "Get the hell out, Dawn. Don't ruin my excitement."
His voice was cold. Detached. As though I were nothing but a stranger interrupting his night of fun. And then, as if to brand his words deeper into my skin, he grabbed another woman by the chin and crushed his lips against hers in a bruising kiss, all while keeping his eyes on me—mocking me.
The humiliation burned hotter than fire.
Before I knew it, rage consumed me. I stormed forward, grabbing the slut by her hair and yanking her to the ground. She squealed, but I didn't care. I wanted to tear every single one of them apart, to destroy them for laughing, for touching what was mine.
"Dawn!!" Francis's voice lashed out like a whip. Sharp. Warning.
But I didn't stop. I couldn't. After everything—after sacrificing so much just to be with him, after carefully plotting and dragging him away from Hazel—I was supposed to be basking in my victory. I was supposed to be enjoying my life as his fiancée. Not… not standing here, watching him ruin me while still lusting after others.
I spun to face him, tears burning in my eyes but anger choking me. "What?! Is this how unmanly you've become? You think whoring yourself out to five sluts makes you a man? Does it satisfy you, Francis? Or are you just trying to spite me?"
My words hadn't even finished when his hand struck across my face.
The sound rang out louder than the moans. My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging, my eyes wide with shock.
He slapped me.
Francis had always been cruel with his words, cold with his actions—but never… never had he raised his hand against me.
I stared at him, trembling. "Francis…"
"Everyone. Out." His command sliced through the tension. The women scrambled, hurriedly gathering their things before rushing out, leaving me alone in the room with the man I thought loved me.
The moment the door shut, his hand was in my hair, yanking me back with brutal force. I cried out in pain.
"Francis, let go! It hurts!" My voice was broken, desperate.
But his grip only tightened. His pheromones—strong, suffocating—leaked into the air, crushing me beneath their weight. My honey pheromones tried to resist, but they were smothered, powerless against him.
"Dawn," he hissed, his face inches from mine. His eyes were cold, glinting with a cruelty I had never seen before. "Do you really think too highly of yourself? Didn't I warn you not to ruin my excitement?"
Tears burned at the corner of my eyes. My lips trembled. "Francis, you're my fiancé… What other place am I supposed to have in your life?"
He shoved me, slamming me down onto the couch. His body loomed over me, his shadow suffocating. "Listen carefully. Don't you ever—ever—challenge me again. Don't guilt trip me. Don't think you have the right. You are here because I allow you to be here. If you want to keep your little position as my fiancée, then you will learn to endure. You will overlook everything. Otherwise…" He leaned closer, his voice a venomous whisper, "I will show you exactly how worthless you are."
His words shredded me apart. My body trembled violently, my heart cracking with every breath.
This wasn't what I had fought for. This wasn't what I dreamed of. I thought life with him would be sweet, that all my efforts would finally give me happiness. But instead, it was a nightmare.
Tears slid down my cheeks. "This isn't what I signed up for…" I whispered to myself.
His eyes darkened. "Since you've already ruined my fun…" His hand fisted my hair, dragging my head back until I cried out. "Then you'll please me instead."
"No—"
"Open your mouth."
I froze. Horror clawed through me.
But before I could resist, before I could even think, he shoved himself into my mouth. The salty, bitter taste filled my tongue as his length pushed down my throat. I gagged, tears spilling down my cheeks, my hands weakly pushing at his waist, but he was merciless. His dominance, his pheromones, his entire presence overpowered me completely.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't escape. Couldn't do anything but choke on the man I once thought I loved.
This wasn't love. This was hell.
---
Hours later, I sat curled in the corner of the room, my body trembling, my heart broken. My pride shattered into pieces that could never be fixed.
And yet… my hatred, my bitterness needed somewhere to go.
With shaking hands, I dialed the number I swore I would never call again. Hazel's number.
The line clicked.
"You slut," I spat into the phone, my voice trembling with rage and humiliation. "You think you can have a better life? What did you do to Francis?!"
Her calm voice on the other end made me freeze. "What—did you catch him sleeping around?"
Her words were like a knife to my gut. My anger flared again, ready to scream, to blame her for everything—until her voice turned cold and sharp.
"Are you that dumb, Dawn? Instead of wasting your time crying because he's cheating, why don't you use your brain? While he's distracted and half-conscious from all that sex, transfer his money to your account. Delete the receipts from his phone. Live your life. Enjoy it. Or do you want to waste away blaming me for your own misery? Don't ever call me to cry over him again. If you've got nothing better to do, then maybe you should try joining the laborers."
The line went dead.
I sat there, the phone slipping from my hand, her words echoing in my ears. My pride was gone, my heart was broken, but one thing remained—bitterness.
And it was festering.