Frayed Dignity

His scorching breath.

That deep, hypnotic voice—wrapped around her like a suffocating spell.

His presence had consumed her, swallowed her whole, robbing her of everything.

His hands had roamed her body with unrestrained greed, molding, claiming.

His lips had devoured her, their touch rough and merciless, like a beast marking its prey.

How could a man be so shameless? So utterly vile?

Enough.

Lily twisted the faucet with a sharp inhale, switching the shower to cold.

Icy water crashed down over her, sending violent shivers through her body. But the shock numbed her, washing away the filth, the lingering sensation of him.

Anything was better than remembering.

After scrubbing herself raw, she stepped out of the bathroom, slipping into a loose nightdress. She didn't even hesitate before tossing her torn sweater and shredded white skirt into the trash.

Disgusting.

Her gaze drifted to the worn wooden desk in the corner of her room, where an old photograph stood in a faded frame.

A younger version of herself smiled back—carefree, beaming, nestled safely between her mother and father.

Back then, she hadn't even known what sorrow was.

Maybe fate had decided she had been too happy as a child.

So, in return, it had filled the rest of her life with thorns, stripping away every ounce of joy.

Now, she couldn't even remember what happiness felt like.

Her throat tightened, and a sudden sting burned behind her eyes.

With a sharp motion, she flipped the photograph face-down, refusing to look at the family she had lost.

She reached for the small box on her nightstand, swallowing the emergency contraceptive she had bought on the way home.

As she set the glass of water down, her gaze landed on her camera equipment in the corner of the room.

And just like that, his face surfaced in her mind again.

Ethan Blackwood.

Arrogant. Ruthless. Shameless.

And yet, she had no choice but to seek him out.

He knew her name.

Which meant he knew her.

If he had that footage, if he sent it to everyone she knew—

Her life would be over.

She would have no future in this city—no way to wait for her father's release.

She couldn't let that happen.

Even if it meant swallowing her pride, she had to face him again.

Just think of it as being bitten by a stray dog, she told herself bitterly.

The Next Day.

Lily arrived at Clearwater Bay, only to be stopped at the entrance.

She had heard about this place before—an exclusive residential community home to the country's wealthiest elite.

People like him.

For someone like her? There was no way in without an invitation.

So she waited.

She had no other choice.

She had no idea how much time had passed when suddenly, the security guard straightened, adjusting his uniform before stepping outside.

"Mr. Blackwood has arrived," he announced respectfully.

A flash of red streaked past her—a sleek and impossibly fast Ferrari speeding through the gates without hesitation.

Lily barely caught a glimpse of the driver before the car disappeared inside.

But then—

With a sharp screech, Ferrari reversed.

The vehicle came to a precise stop right in front of her.

The tinted window rolled down.

And there he was.

Ethan Blackwood.

The man in the driver's seat exuded effortless dominance. His neatly styled cropped hair accented his sharp facial angles. His jawline was razor-sharp, and his features strikingly symmetrical, as if sculpted with precision.

But his eyes—dark, piercing, predatory—sent a chill down her spine.

Like a hunter who had just spotted his prey.

And was thoroughly enjoying the chase.