Chapter 4 The Slut
At the sight of the man before her, she blushed; she instinctively reached for the quilt to cover her eyes from catching his naked body.
With a brusque gesture, he sneered, “Don’t bother hiding. You’ve already seen it all—no need for modesty So...who the hell are you?” With a single yank, he pulled the quilt away, letting it fall to the floor.
Humiliation and shame burned in her chest, yet under his piercing gaze, she froze, frantically searching for something—anything—to cover her body. She grabbed his pillow and hugged it to her chest…
Yet her terrified eyes stayed locked on him, mind racing. Why did he seem genuinely shocked to find her here?
Up close, he was even more handsome than she’d expected, chiseled features, thin lips, and an air of understated sophistication, even stark naked.
He leaned in, face inches from hers. “Who are you?” he asked, voice calm but menacing.
Does he really not recognize her?
If so, she’d keep it that way. She couldn’t bear to admit the truth. Let this be a nightmare—by morning, it’d be as if it never happened.
Her heart was in a tangled mess. She still believed he was the one involving in the blackmailing email, aware of the arrangement for her to stay with himself for three months.
Three months had once seemed fleeting; now they stretched ahead like an eternity.
His cold, unyielding expression made her heart pound with dread.
She stayed silent.
He reached out and wiped the blood from her nose, but before she could even exhale, his hand clamped down on her nose, blocking her airways, while the other gripped her throat…
She struggled for breath, spots blurring her vision.
Is this how I end up?
His face swam before her. Was he trying to kill her? Oddly, he did not cover her mouth. Was he waiting for her to beg?
She smiled faintly. Death felt like freedom from the shame. Let them call her a coward—she didn’t care anymore.
She almost thanked him, for giving her the courage to surrender. But then she saw it: the fury, disdain, and hate in his eyes.
Jack Winston tightened his grip, but when she met his rage with a calm, unresisting smile, his hands froze, then dropped away as if burned.
“Shit!” he hissed, only now realizing how close he’d come to killing her.
He’d let her go—just like that.
“Emily Bruce—it has to be you. Creeping back into my bed, huh? You filthy slut.” He gazed at her with a sarcastic sneer, though a flicker of hunger lit his eyes.
Emily Bruce? Who the hell is that?
Alison’s mind went blank. What did he mean by “filthy slut”? Had this Emily been like this before?
She stared back in bewilderment, which oddly seemed to pique his interest. He pried the pillow from her grasp with elegant fingers; she clung to it, but he was too strong.
He leaned closer, his voice a low growl in her ear, sending shivers through her. She knew she couldn’t fight him—not just because of his size, but because of that goddamn email. It was as if the sender had scripted this.
“You slut—since you’ve waiting, I guess I’ll give you what you want,” he sneered, his voice low and dangerous.
Slut. The word stung. He kissed her—hard.
Inexperienced, she froze, overwhelmed.
“See? You’re already wet for me,” he taunted, pulling back. “Emily, some things never change. Still a greedy whore, selling yourself for cash. Admit it, you’re a slutty bitch.”
Alison recoiled at the insults.
Did she and Emily look that much alike? Fine—let him think she was Emily. If word got out, Emily could take the blame.
His mocking laughter echoed.
“Cat got your tongue, huh?” he jeered. Panic spiked in her chest.
“No!” She grabbed his hand, voice trembling.
“No? Emily, say the words. Say it – tell me how bad you want my cock.”
Shame burned in her. She shut her eyes, but his touch grew hungrier.
“Emily, scream for me. Maybe I’ll be generous and tip you extra.”
Money? She was here for the photos—no money. She had to survive this.
Clenching her teeth, she forced herself to play the part of Emily.
“Emily, drop the act. No one else has a key to this place. You really had the nerve to come back, didn’t you?”
But she wasn’t Emily—she was Alison. Who was this Emily bitch?
She kept her eyes shut, too scared to look, too scared to resist.
Her mind racing: whoever did this to me...I’ll make them pay.
“Emily, are you ready to be fucked?”