Jessica was like a sculpture from which the soul had been drawn.
Her gaze swept back and forth.
As if trying to find even the slightest evidence of last night's sin in this false 'normalcy'.
But there was nothing.
William walked over and gently patted her shoulder.
This action made Jessica's body tremble violently, as if she had been startled awake from a nightmare.
"Let's go."
William's voice was very calm.
"The 'renovation work' here is finished."
Jessica didn't speak, just gave him a deep look.
Her eyes were as complex as a tangled mess.
There was shock, confusion, wariness.
And a hint of... bewilderment that she herself hadn't noticed.
She followed William out of the Villa like a sleepwalker.
Into the cold wind of New York's late night.
It was already late at night when they returned to William's luxurious apartment.
He didn't turn on the lights.
Using the mottled light and Shadow cast by the neon lights outside the window, he took two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and handed one to Jessica.
Neither of them spoke, just leaned by the window, drinking in silence.
The cold liquid slid down their throats, but it couldn't extinguish the Fire in their hearts, a mix of fear and absurdity.
The apartment was so quiet that only their breathing could be heard, and the occasional siren from a distant street.
Suddenly, Jessica put down her beer bottle.
She turned around.
In the dim light, she stared intently at William.
Then,
She kissed him without warning.
It wasn't a gentle kiss.
It was more like a biting, a wrestling match.
With the bitterness of beer, the cold hardness of a leather jacket.
And a desperate madness, a desire to prove she was still alive.
She was like a Beast licking its wounds after being hurt, confirming the tactile sensation of reality in the most primitive way.
William stiffened for a moment before choosing to respond.
This woman, who had just personally ended her nightmare, needed something more real than words, more direct than logic, to pull herself back from that surreal experience.
They tangled from the window to the sofa.
Then rolled from the sofa onto the carpet.
Clothes were roughly torn open.
Skin collided in the dimness, making dull sounds.
There were no sweet nothings.
No gentle caresses.
Only the most primitive gasps and sweat.
This was more like a catharsis.
A wrestling match with no winner or loser.
Using pain and exhaustion to cover the huge spiritual void.
Jessica seemed to be using all her strength to pour out years of accumulated fear, anger, and despair through this rough entanglement... It's unknown how long passed.
When everything became calm, a hint of White appeared on the horizon outside the window.
Jessica curled up in William's arms, like a lost child.
Her body was still trembling slightly.
Her cheek pressed against William's chest, and hot tears finally broke free, silently soaking the skin on his chest.
She didn't wail.
She just sobbed, suppressed, one breath at a time.
"He's dead..."
Her voice was hoarse, broken, with a heavy nasal tone.
"I killed him... that bastard, he's really dead..."
"Yes, he's dead."
William gently stroked her sweaty back.
"It's all over."
"I'm free..."
She murmured to herself.
As if she was talking to herself.
And as if she was announcing it to the entire World.
Her crying gradually subsided, turning into even breathing.
Under the double exhaustion of revenge and relief, she finally fell into a deep sleep.
The next day.
William was woken by the dazzling Sun outside the window.
The hangover and the aftermath of their passion left him with a splitting headache.
He instinctively reached out to embrace the person beside him.
But found nothing.
The sheets beside him were cold, with a slight wrinkle.
He suddenly sat up, looking around.
The room was empty, only him.
Everything was tidied up perfectly.
There was no note on the table, and no message on his phone.
That woman, like the bizarre 'cleaning service' last night, came abruptly.
And left even more decisively.
William rubbed his temples, leaning against the headboard.
He suddenly felt as if he had been taken advantage of again.
No.
It couldn't be called taken advantage of.
After all, last night was more like a part-time job involving physical labor, plus psychological counseling and co-sleeping services.
Purely voluntary labor.
He laughed self-deprecatingly.
What was this?
A female hero version of 'hit it and quit it'?
He was exactly like a free gigolo who had been favored by a rich woman and then left with a few banknotes the next morning.
Oh no, even worse, this time he didn't even see any banknotes.
Wait... William's movements paused, and the system prompt from last night flashed in his mind.
Isn't this new ability the reward?
At this thought, the slight depression in his heart instantly vanished.
Replaced by a capitalist-like ecstasy.
What free gigolo, this was clearly a high-return venture capital investment!
He invested time, energy, and a little bit of insignificant sympathy.
He gained a passive skill that could save his life in this World full of psychopaths.
He made a fortune!
As for Jessica Jones?
Consider it a special 'after-sales service'.
Customer experience is paramount, after all.
With this thought, William immediately felt refreshed.
He jumped out of bed, and the soreness in his body seemed to have lessened considerably.
Humming an off-key tune, he walked into the bathroom and took a hot shower.
The man in the mirror, apart from a hint of fatigue in his eyes, had a clearer gaze than ever before.
Is this the effect of 'Mental Resilience'?
His brain felt like it had undergone a deep cleansing.
The impact of those surreal scenes last night and Jessica's almost overflowing negative emotions.
Recalling them now felt like looking through a thick piece of frosted glass.
He could see it, but couldn't feel that bone-chilling coldness.
Good, very good.
He shaved clean.
Changed into a brand new custom suit, carefully tied his tie, and meticulously combed his hair.
Finally.
He picked up his briefcase and gave himself a standard, approachable, sales-elite smile in the mirror.
Last night's chaos and madness were left behind the door.
Now, he was William Rodriguez, New York's most professional insurance professional, ready to protect the happy lives of his next clients.
As William walked out of the apartment building, preparing to buy breakfast at the corner, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
It was an unknown number.
William habitually put on his professional smile and answered the phone.
"Hello?"
There was two seconds of silence on the other end, then a gentle, steady, yet official-sounding male voice came through.
"Mr. William Rodriguez?"
"That's me, may I ask who this is?"
"My name is Phil Coulson."
The smile on William's face stiffened for a moment.
"I wonder if you're free this morning? We could have a coffee and chat in detail. My treat."
This wasn't a question, it was a notification.
"Of course."
William agreed without hesitation.
"My pleasure. Time, place?"
"The coffee shop on your left, at the corner, I'm waiting for you by the window."
William instinctively looked to his left.
An elegantly decorated coffee shop sat quietly at the corner of the street.
Through the large floor-to-ceiling window, he could even see a man in a suit, holding a phone, raising his cup in William's direction.
The call ended.
William held his phone, standing still, and took a deep breath of New York's cool morning air.
Trouble has arrived.
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