"Drink it," Wang says, swirling the glass. The dark red liquid clings to the crystal in eerie arcs. He doesn't rush; he leans in, his nauseating breath hot on my face. "Lin, I'm giving you an opportunity. Just do as I say, and your thesis and teaching position will be yours. But if things go wrong…"
He chuckles, his hand already slithering up my arm like a cold, damp snake.
The moment his fingers brush the second button of my shirt, I move. I swing my left arm upward, slamming into his wrist. Splash! The wine spattered everywhere, soaking his expensive suit and splashing all over his face.
"AH—!" I let out a piercing shriek. It's not loud enough to leave the room over the thunder, but it's sharp enough to enrage a beast. "Help! What are you doing?!"
I shove him with everything I have, tears streaming down my face. They aren't faked; they are fueled by pure, unadulterated hate. "I'm calling the police! Get away from me!"
Wang freezes. A second later, his mask of civility twists into the face of an asura. "You ungrateful bitch!"
In a fit of rage, he lunges and clamps his hand around my throat. The grip is massive, crushing the air out of me. He pins me against the cold leather sofa.
"Scream? Scream until your throat bleeds—no one is coming for you!" he growls, his other hand snatching my collar. Rippp! The sound of fabric tearing is a desperate wail in the dark. Buttons fly, clinking against the wall like tiny bells.
Large areas of skin are exposed to damp, cold air.
The lust in Wang's eyes has turned into a manic urge for conquest. Grinning hideously, he thrusts his wine-stained hand directly inside my clothes. His rough palm, slick with the heat of alcohol, presses hard against my chest. It feels like a venomous snake sliding into my heart.
I want to die. But I cannot move.
Through the dizzying haze of suffocation, I stare at the teddy bear's eye. The angle isn't right. I struggle violently, kicking my legs and using his momentum to roll to the left.
Face—to the lens.
His hand, ravaging my clothes—to the lens.
His twisted, monstrous expression—to the lens.
Now! I rake my nails across his arm. One. Two. Three deep, bloody gashes open up. Blood mingles with the red wine, trickling down. This is the physical evidence of struggle. This is the proof of assault.
"Let me go! You beast!" I sobbed, my voice hoarse, each word seeming to be coughed up from a throat filled with blood.
The pain only made Wang more excited. "Oh, you like it rough?" he laughed maniacally, his fingers digging into my skin until they left bruises. "Tonight, I'll show you who's the boss!"
The pain was real. Humiliation surged like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm me. But I felt nothing. My mind was like a precision instrument, recording every single image: his face, my despair, that filthy hand, and that tiny red light flickering silently in the darkness.