"Ouch…"
For the first time, Paige Yates truly understood the pain of a girl becoming a woman. She was lying in a dark room, completely vulnerable. The man's overwhelming presence felt like a predator in the night, ready to consume her and pull her into a deep abyss. Today was meant to be the happiest day of her life. It was the day she was supposed to marry her boyfriend, Javier Foster. She arrived at the civil affairs office before nine in the morning, filled with anticipation.
But as time passed, Javier never showed up. She waited until the staff at the office had all left for the day. Instead of arriving, Javier sent a message through her sister, Stacy Yates:
"Dear sister, I’m getting engaged to Javier. From today onward, he will be my husband."
Stacy even attached a photo of herself lying in bed with Javier, their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace. Paige stared at the image in disbelief, her anger building until it made her head spin. She attempted to call Javier, but when he finally answered, all he said was, "I'm sorry, Paige. I can’t marry you now. Please don’t wait for me."
With the call abruptly cut off, Paige stood outside the civil affairs office, struggling to hold back her tears. The betrayal was unbearable. How could he do this to her? He had not only cheated but broken his promise without a shred of explanation. Did he really think she had no other options if he decided not to marry her? She had plenty of admirers.
The more she thought about it, the angrier and more regretful she became. How could someone as vibrant as herself be discarded so easily? Fueled by rage and heartbreak, she made a rash decision—she would marry someone else tonight. In her quest for revenge, Paige stormed into an upscale club and demanded, "Bring me a bottle of liquor and send me the club's top escort."
The attendant paused, taken aback by such a bold request from a woman who seemed so refined. But they were trained to fulfill every guest's demand, no matter how unusual. Soon, the liquor arrived, and Paige drank nearly half the bottle. The burn seared her throat as warmth spread across her cheeks. The alcohol stirred something wild within her. Just as she prepared to demand the appearance of the top VIP, the door swung open. A man entered, seated regally in a wheelchair. His black trousers accentuated his long legs, and his pale skin stood out in the dim light. His presence was commanding, his gaze sharp and intense.
Paige locked eyes with him, her heart pounding with both anticipation and fear. The alcohol made her feel hot and dizzy. This man didn't seem like someone to mess with, and her instincts urged her to flee. However, the reckless part of her refused to listen.
She unsteadily made her way over, climbed onto his lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck. With a daring whisper, she said, "A disabled man as the top VIP? This club knows how to play rough."
"Get off," he ordered, his voice icy and stern, but Paige was beyond fear. She wanted him more than anything at that moment.
He gripped her waist, ready to push her away. Before he could act, she reached up and cupped his face. Then, she kissed him clumsily. She whispered against his cold lips, "Stop pretending. I know you want me too."
For a brief moment, he hesitated, his grip tightening as he studied her. Her innocent yet bold kiss had sparked something within him, something that had been buried for nearly thirty years. Finally, he grasped her chin, leaned in close, and murmured against her lips, "Once you sober up, don’t regret this."
At dawn the following day, sunlight streamed into the disheveled room. Paige suddenly opened her eyes, instinctively glancing around. She saw a man asleep beside her, his back turned to her. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, a subtle testament to his deep, untroubled slumber.
As the events of the previous night came rushing back, Paige felt a jolt of realization. It wasn’t a dream after all. Her heart sank. She quickly got out of bed, her feet barely touching the floor. Consequently, she nearly collapsed, feeling as if a large truck had run over her. Her body ached with a heavy, exhausted sensation.
Taking a moment, she bent over to retrieve her robe and coat. As her gaze swept across the room, it landed on the wheelchair by the bed, causing her breath to catch in her throat.
Goodness!
She must have completely lost her mind last night. She had actually slept with this top-ranked disabled man. Suddenly, a wave of guilt washed over her heart.
In a rush, she opened his wallet and withdrew all the money she could. Then, she placed it on the nightstand. Speaking softly, she said, "This is all I have. Don’t underestimate the amount. Consider it compensation for the difficulties of last night. Let’s part ways here, with no expectation of future meetings."
Fearing that the man might wake up and attempt to stop her, she quickly limped out of the room. In her haste, she nearly tripped over a man squatting by the door.
He reached out to steady her, and the strong scent of perfume from his floral shirt made her sneeze violently. "Why are you just sitting here if you have nothing better to do?"
The man, adorned in a flamboyant floral shirt, appeared like a vibrant butterfly. With a pitiful tone, he replied, "Weren’t you the one who summoned me, asking for my services? I’ve been waiting here all night."
Paige was stunned. If this man was the top escort of the club, then who had she slept with last night?
