The rain lashed down like knives.
Ethan Blackwood gripped the steering wheel tightly with one hand, an empty whiskey bottle in the other. Just twenty minutes earlier, he'd been in a fight outside the club, flooring the accelerator, the front of his car slamming into the guardrail. He hadn't hit anyone, but the front bumper was a mangled wreck.
He was heavily drunk. Everything was blurry. His phone vibrated incessantly; it was his mother, Eleanor, calling. He simply pressed the power button to turn it off and tossed the phone onto the passenger floor mat.
He pushed open the car door, letting the cold rain pour down on him, like countless icy needles piercing his skin. He cursed under his breath, slammed the door shut, and staggered forward.
Not far away, a streetlamp shone dimly, as if about to go out.
A woman stood there.
A black miniskirt, a cheap, transparent plastic raincoat over it, her hair completely soaked and plastered to her face. Rain streamed down her chin. She stood there, without an umbrella or looking down to shelter, like a plaster statue soaked through by the rain.
Ethan stopped.
She looked up. Large, dark eyes. Raindrops clung to her eyelashes, reflecting shimmering light under the streetlights.
He suddenly laughed. A laugh of contempt, tinged with a strange excitement.
He'd seen too many women like her. But this one… was excessively clean. Clean as if she'd never truly been defiled, yet she stood on this dirtiest street corner in New York.
"Eight thousand," he said, his voice hoarse from the rain, "one night."
Lila Voss looked at him. She didn't speak.
She'd seen too many men like him. Impeccably tailored suits, eyes like those of a hungry wolf. The difference was, this man possessed a broken, worn-out nobility, like someone who'd just fallen from a great height and hadn't yet learned how to crawl through the mud.
She nodded.
Ethan approached, opened his umbrella, and sheltered her. The umbrella wasn't large, and their shoulders touched. He smelled her scent: cheap perfume, rain, and a faint hint of tobacco.
"Get in the car," he commanded.
Lila followed him. Her high heels splashed in puddles. She looked down at her rain-soaked, faded heels, almost broken.
The passenger door opened. She got in. The car was warm, the leather seats smelling faintly of cologne.
Ethan pulled a wad of cash from the glove compartment, took out four thousand dollars, and tossed it onto her lap.
"Half for now. The rest later." Lila picked up the bills, slowly counted them, and stuffed them into her purse. Her movements were slow, as if deliberately delaying.
She knew that eight thousand dollars was enough for her mother's medicine this month. Enough for her brother Noah's tuition next semester.
Enough for her to live another month.
The car started and sped into the rain. They walked in silence.
The hotel lobby was brightly lit, like another world. Ethan swiped his card to book the penthouse suite. In the elevator, he leaned against the wall, his gaze unabashedly sweeping over her entire body.
Lila kept her head down. Her wet clothes had left the collar open, revealing her collarbone. She didn't try to cover it.
Once inside, he threw off his coat and loosened his tie.
"Go take a shower," he said.
Lila went into the bathroom. The sound of water quickly filled the air.
Ethan poured himself another glass of wine and stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, the neon lights flickered, like countless shattered dreams bleeding.
He remembered the board meeting that afternoon. His father slammed his fist on the table, beating him into giving up on Victoria Harrington, his mother crying and begging him to get back together. He stormed out and went straight to drinking.
Now, he only wanted to possess one thing. To prove he wasn't completely rotten.
The bathroom door opened.
Lila emerged, wrapped in a white bathrobe. Her wet hair dripped, the robe was too big, the collar slipping down to her shoulders, revealing large expanses of pale skin. She wasn't wearing anything underneath, the curves of her breasts barely visible beneath the thin fabric.
Ethan's breathing quickened.
He walked over and ripped open the belt of her bathrobe. The fabric slipped onto the carpet. She stood naked in the light.
Her skin was very white. Almost translucent. Her collarbones were sharp, her waist so slender one could encircle it with a single hand. Several faint, old scars marked her legs, like marks left by a light slash.
His Adam's apple bobbed.
Lila didn't move. Her eyes were lowered, long eyelashes concealing all emotion.
Ethan gripped her chin, forcing her to look up.
"Look at me," he said in a low voice.
Lila looked up. Her pupils were as black as an abyss.
He kissed her. Fiercely. His teeth struck her lips, tasting the metallic, metallic blood.
Lila didn't flinch. Her hands hung limply at her sides, as if boneless.
He pushed her onto the bed, his knee forcefully spreading her legs. His hands roamed roughly, pinching her waist, kneading her breasts. She trembled, but made no sound.
Ethan lowered his head and bit her shoulder, leaving bright red teeth marks.
When he entered her, she groaned softly, her nails digging deeply into the sheets.
It was tight. So tight he gasped.
He began to move. Faster and faster, as if to slam all his anger, alcohol, and family pressure into her body.
Lila bit her lower lip. Her eyes were tightly closed. Her body rose and fell with his rhythm, but she didn't cry.
She was used to it. Used to swallowing the pain, used to letting the tears flow back down her throat.
Ethan suddenly stopped.
He straddled her, looking down at her.
Her eyelashes were wet. Not sweat, but tears.
For a moment, he felt a little uninterested. But his body was already trapped.
He continued. Until a final, suppressed growl, a complete release.
Afterwards, he rolled over and lit a cigarette.
Lila curled up in the corner of the bed, pulling the blanket over herself. Her back was to him.
Only the sound of rain and the slowly rising smoke filled the room.
Ethan took a couple of puffs, then turned to look at her.
Her shoulders were pitifully thin. A shallow groove ran down her spine, like an arc bent by life's burdens.
He suddenly reached out and touched the back of her neck.
"Does it hurt?" His voice was unexpectedly gentle.
Lila shook her head. Her voice was soft: "No."
A lie. He saw her knuckles were white, her nails almost digging into her palms.
Ethan stubbed out his cigarette and turned off the light.
In the darkness, he hugged her from behind. His chin rested on the top of her head.
"Just one night," he murmured, "Tomorrow you leave, I leave. Neither of us will bother the other."
Lila didn't answer.
She'd heard those words too many times.
Men always said "one night," but they often lingered. He played with her until he was bored, then threw her back onto the street, like a used tissue.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to sleep.
Ethan, however, kept his eyes open, staring at the dark ceiling.
Her body temperature was low, like ice.
He suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.
Why was this woman so quiet? Quiet as if…she had already died once.
As dawn approached, he got up and dressed.
On the bedside table, he placed twenty thousand dollars in cash. Double the amount they had agreed upon.
He stood by the bed, giving her one last look.
Lila wasn't actually asleep. She heard the sound of leather shoes on the carpet, the soft click of the door lock.
She opened her eyes, staring at the thick stack of banknotes.
She smiled. A smile that brought tears streaming down her cheeks.
She reached for the money, clutching it tightly, as if grasping at a last straw.
Then, she hugged her knees and buried her face in them.
She cried silently. Outside, the corridor lights were dim and cold.
Ethan stopped and glanced back at the closed door.
He remembered the moment she opened her eyes.
The emptiness in her eyes. Like a bottomless black hole.
A light that swallowed everything.
He suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.
He stubbed out his last cigarette and turned to leave.
His steps were heavy.
Like stepping on his own heart, sinking deeper and deeper with each step.