Chapter 5
1008words
He hadn't returned for two consecutive days, nor had there been any news.
I became the only living thing in this vast house, accompanied by expensive furniture and cold air.
I knew clearly this was his usual method of punishment, using distance and indifference to remind me who was the master of this relationship.
It wasn't until the third night that my phone suddenly rang.
It was a text from Francis Foster, concise and to the point, just like the man himself.
"Come to 'Phantom' Club, third floor, Scorpio room."
No greeting, no explanation, just an indisputable command.
My heart sank. I knew this was the next stage of my "lesson"—public humiliation.
When I pushed open that heavy private room door, deafening music and the pungent smell of alcohol hit me all at once. Under the flickering, hazy lights, Francis Foster was slumped deep into the massive leather sofa, with a scantily-clad, voluptuous woman nestled against him.
His friends were gathered around him, teasing with smirks on their faces.
"Well, look who's here, Brother Gu, your little canary has arrived!"
"Look, look, that little face is so upset. Brother Gu, comfort her quick! Your little lover is getting angry!"
A man with dyed yellow hair approached me with a drink in hand, blocking my way, his face wearing a malicious smile: "Want to go see Brother Gu? Sure, just finish this drink first!"
"That's right, that's right, we won't let you pass unless you drink!"
A group of people came around with arms around each other's shoulders, blocking me at the doorway. Old and humiliating memories instantly flooded back, and I felt like I was back in that chaotic nightclub five years ago, surrounded and forced by countless people to drink one bitter glass after another.
I instinctively looked toward Francis Foster sitting in the center of the sofa.
He was staring at me with deep, dark eyes, a cigarette between his fingers, his thin lips slightly pursed, not saying a word.
He was giving his tacit consent.
He wanted to use this method to tell me that without him, I was nothing, and could be humiliated by anyone at any time.
My heart turned completely cold.
I took the drink and downed it in one gulp. The spicy liquid burned my throat and rushed straight into my stomach.
"Great!"
"That's the spirit!"
They cheered loudly and handed me a second glass, then a third... I was like an emotionless puppet, refusing no one, drinking glass after glass until I had drunk with everyone who was egging me on.
They finally showed mercy and made way for me.
I staggered toward Francis Foster, eventually collapsing pathetically onto the carpet in front of him as my strength gave out.
He waved his hand, and the woman beside him immediately took the hint and left. Like when we first met, he reached out and gripped my chin, forcing me to look up.
He looked down at me, his voice carrying a hint of alcohol-induced hoarseness.
"Have you figured it out?"
The stimulating alcohol surged wildly up from my stomach. Fighting the urge to vomit, I was forced to look at his cold face. He was like a lofty emperor waiting for me to submit.
I closed my eyes briefly, and when I reopened them, there was nothing but emptiness in my gaze.
"I know I was wrong, sir," I obediently lowered my head, my voice as light as a feather. "In the future... this won't happen again."
My "sensibility" seemed to please him. That night, he thoroughly enjoyed himself.
So much so that the next morning, not long after he went to the company in a rather good mood, I received a gift delivered by his new assistant. This was enough to prove that my performance last night had been satisfactory enough for him.
If... the gift hadn't been sent to the wrong person, it would have been even better.
It was an exquisite Tiffany blue jewelry box, and when opened, inside lay a gleaming diamond necklace, designed like a flowing galaxy, dazzlingly brilliant.
And beside the box, there was also a large bouquet of luscious red roses, so vibrantly red, so eye-catching.
I was stunned.
For five years, Francis Foster had never given me roses.
He stubbornly maintained this habit, saying that roses represented love, but our relationship that couldn't bear the light of day wasn't worthy of talking about love at all.
What he gave me were mostly tulips and eustomas, beautiful flowers that don't symbolize deep love. He used this method to constantly remind me of my position, afraid of giving me any illusory hope.
This new assistant had obviously mixed up the gifts meant for me with those meant for Sophia Stewart.
I picked up that necklace and looked at it. It was very beautiful.
Unfortunately, it wasn't meant for me.
When Francis Foster returned that evening, I showed him the jewelry box. The bouquet of roses that wasn't meant for me had already been thrown into the trash.
He glanced at it without the slightest embarrassment and simply remarked, "Oh, that must have been delivered by mistake. This is for Sophia. I'll have her send you something else tomorrow."
He casually took the box and tossed it onto the bedside table like some unimportant item.
"Tell me what you want, I'll get it for you tomorrow," he added, his tone carrying a patronizing generosity.
"It's alright, sir, it's just a gift." I lowered my eyes, my voice calm and unwavering.
Francis Foster felt relieved at my understanding. He turned off the lights and embraced me from behind as usual.
But he didn't know that the moment he casually said "This is for Zhixia," the final straw that broke me had fallen.
All my self-esteem, love, and last trace of fantasy were crushed to pieces by this wrongly delivered necklace and those roses that weren't meant for me.
