Chapter 2

She pulled my phone from my pocket and casually tossed it onto a distant table.

"Now, no one can find you." Harper crouched in front of me, the paper cutter spinning between her fingers. "Tell me, how did a bitch like you manage to latch onto Mr. Damian?"

"With your chest?" She pressed the paper cutter against my breast.

"Or your hands?" She viciously pinched the back of my hand.

"Or maybe your bedroom tricks satisfy him more, making him addicted to your ugly body?"

I tested the rope around my wrists.

Tight, but not a dead knot.

"Three years." She stood up and began pacing around the room. "I spent three whole years to get to the position of Mr. Damian's secretary and get him to be with me. Although he still won't let me publicly announce our relationship, I know it's only a matter of time. But now you're trying to destroy our relationship!"

"I will never let you marry my brother!" I interrupted her.

Slap—

Another slap across the face.

My head turned to the side, the metallic taste of blood stronger in my mouth.

"Who do you think you are?" Harper shrieked, grabbing my collar. "Wearing this cheap leather jacket? Look at your outfit—"

She forcefully unzipped my jacket, revealing the black tank top underneath.

"This?" She scoffed. "You think Mr. Damian would be interested in your flat chest? He needs a real woman, not some boring flat board like you."

Her finger jabbed at my shoulder, right on the gunshot wound.

Searing pain struck.

I clenched my teeth, making no sound.

"Oh, injured?" Harper noticed something, her eyes lighting up. "Let me guess—a fight? Or did some man beat you?"

She dug her nails into the edge of the wound, pressing hard through the fabric.

"Women like you only belong on the streets." She leaned down, almost pressing her face against mine. "Look at your skin, rough as sandpaper. Now look at me—"

She held up her well-maintained hand, waving it in front of my eyes.

"Mr. Damian likes refined women. And you?" She sneered. "You don't even know basic skincare."

I stared at her, saying nothing.

This infuriated her.

"Cat got your tongue?" Harper grabbed the paper cutter, pressing the blade against the side of my neck. "Or have you finally realized you're not worthy of him?"

The blade broke through the skin.

Warm blood trickled down my neck.

But I didn't even blink.

Instead, Harper's hand was trembling.

She looked into my eyes—eyes that held no pleading, no fear, only suppressed, extreme killing intent.

"You... you bitch, are you threatening me?" She said, humiliated and angry.

"No." My voice was terrifyingly calm. "I'm memorizing your face."

Just then, the phone on the table vibrated.

The screen lit up—"Marco."

Harper whipped around, rushed over to grab the phone, turned it off immediately, and shoved it deep into a drawer.

"Your people?" She looked back at me, her smile twisted. "Too bad, they can't find you. This office is soundproof, and Mr. Damian has an important meeting today—he won't be back for at least three hours."

She walked back, crouching in front of me. "These three hours are enough for me to teach you a lesson. You know what? I hate women like you the most—thinking you can do anything, when really you're just pathetic creatures trying to climb up by latching onto men."

She raised her hand and slapped me again.

"So? Still think you're so great?"

I tilted my head, the rope around my wrists loosening another fraction.

"I'm wondering," I suddenly smiled, "how much longer you have to live."

"You—" Harper raised her hand.

I suddenly lunged forward.

The chair carried my body forward, my forehead slamming hard into her face.

Harper screamed, staggering backward, covering her face. "Bitch!"

I fell to the ground, the impact on my shoulder wound causing excruciating pain. The chair's wooden frame broke, but the rope was still tangled around me.

The ether's effects were still present, my limbs felt like they were filled with lead.

Damn it—

Harper touched her face, her fingers stained with nosebleed.

"I'm going to ruin your face!" She grabbed the paper cutter, stumbling toward me.

The blade aimed at my cheek.

Just then, the sound of a door opening came from the outer lounge.

"Harper?" Damian's voice came from outside.

Harper froze, her face instantly turning pale.

She looked at the knife in her hand, then at me on the floor, quickly hiding the paper cutter behind her back and hastily wiping the blood from her nose.

"Mr. Damian—" She rushed toward the door in a panic, opening it just a crack and blocking the view with her body. "I'm here!"

"The meeting was canceled, I came back to see you." Damian's voice was filled with desire, and the meaning of "see you" was quite obvious.

Footsteps paused outside.

I could hear Harper's rapid breathing, could feel her taut nerves.