One-Night Stand

Amidst the whispers and stares from the bar's patrons, Cynthia stumbled out, her steps unsteady and desperate.

The late spring night breeze carried a chill, cruelly slipping into her collar. She was soaked, unsure whether it was sweat or spilled liquor from her struggle earlier, and as she stepped outside the bar, a shiver ran down her spine.

Suddenly, a strong wave of dizziness hit her, overwhelming her like a rushing tide.

Her body felt drained, as if her muscles had been stripped away, and she was left weak and on the verge of collapsing onto the cold ground.

Those drinks were definitely tampered with!

Shaking uncontrollably, Cynthia fumbled for her phone, her fingers sluggishly gliding across the screen as she tried to call her best friend, Erica, hoping for her to come and help.

But fate seemed unwilling to spare her.

Just then, two tall, shadowy figures appeared from behind her, silently approaching. Before she could react, a large, rough hand covered her mouth.

Cynthia felt the world spinning, her head heavy and clouded, as if engulfed in a thick fog.

Her body burned with an intense, uncomfortable heat, a sensation so foreign that she instinctively wanted to tear off her clothes.

Half-dazed, she was suddenly thrown onto a soft, large bed, the bright white light flashing painfully in her eyes.

She tried with all her might to open her eyes, to see where she was, but all she could see was a blurry haze, as if there were thick frosted glass between her and reality.

She tried to scream, but her throat was glued shut, no sound escaping.

Then, a towering figure slowly appeared in front of her, its presence overwhelming, like a mountain looming above her.

The figure pressed down heavily on her, the unmistakable scent of male pheromones flooding her senses, causing her body to involuntarily respond, every pore greedily inhaling the scent.

Her wrists were pinned to the bed with painful force, sharp agony jolting through her, bringing a fleeting moment of clarity.

In that instant, a deep, hoarse voice whispered in her ear, "I'm always right. YOU'RE THE SLUT! You want me to fuck you, huh?"

The words cut into her heart like a sharp knife.

She wasn't a slut, she screamed inside, wanting to open her mouth to argue, to tell him she was drugged, that she was a victim!

But when she tried to speak, all that escaped her lips were weak moans, the sound seeming to welcome the man's touch and invasion.

The next moment, her lips were seized in a harsh kiss, the burning sensation making her tremble all over.

She tried to push him away, but her body betrayed her, no strength left to resist, instead sinking deeper into the nauseating intimacy...

***

The Next Morning

The morning sun filtered through the thick curtains, casting several sharp beams of light. Cynthia's head was pounding painfully, each heartbeat like a heavy hammer pounding on her nerves.

Her body felt as though it had been pierced by countless needles, and an aching soreness spread throughout her limbs.

She struggled to turn over on the soft white bed, her pale arm slipping out from under the covers as she instinctively reached for her phone.

But after fumbling for a while, she couldn't find it. Rubbing her forehead, she slowly opened her eyes.

What she saw immediately snapped her out of the haze, as if cold water had been poured over her.

This was an unfamiliar room, lavishly decorated but filled with an eerie atmosphere.

The bed beneath her was soft, almost like a trap, binding her in place. What terrified her more was that she was completely naked, her skin exposed to the air, a cold chill seeping into her bones.

For a moment, her mind went blank.

Clothes, both men's and women's, were scattered all over the bed and the floor, the undeniable evidence of what had happened the night before—she had slept with a man.

Suddenly, the fragmented memories of last night crashed into her mind.

She had been abducted by a stranger, and then everything went black.

Her mind flickered with disjointed images, the man pressing on top of her, his hungry desire, the kiss, and the hands that had driven her to madness...

"DAMN!" she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling with a mixture of despair and fury. "A FUCKING one-night stand?!"

At that moment, the sound of running water came from the bathroom, harsh and loud in the otherwise silent room.

The noise startled Cynthia, making her freeze, her nerves immediately tensing.

Countless terrifying thoughts tangled in her mind.

Who was the man in the bathroom? Was he the one who kidnapped her?

Panicking, she quickly threw off the covers, scrambling out of bed, her bare feet cold against the floor.

Her movements were frantic and hurried, as she desperately grabbed for the clothes on the floor, trying to cover herself, while her eyes searched for her phone. That was her only chance for help.

When she finally found it, her trembling fingers pressed the buttons, ready to call the police.

But just then, the bathroom door creaked open. The sound wasn't loud, but it felt like thunder in her ears, and she froze in place, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Who was she about to face? Would this man kill her now that she was awake?

As she forced herself to calm down, she turned to face him, but the phone slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor.

Her face drained of color, her skin going deathly pale as if all the blood had been drained from her body. The air thickened with a suffocating cold.

It was the man from last night, the one who had called her a slut—Lucien.

He stood there, holding a cigarette in one hand, wrapped in a bath towel, his perfect physique on full display.

Water droplets clung to his pale skin, and his flawless face radiated coldness, his eyes—glinting with a chilling light—locked onto her.

Thick eyebrows, a high nose, and lips that were thin but exquisitely beautiful—all of it exuded an aristocratic elegance that was impossible to ignore.

But to Cynthia, it all felt like a nightmare.

Now, just being alone with him in this room, she felt as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff, with danger looming close by.

Run.

That was the only thought in her mind now. She had no courage left to defy him like she did last night.

But Lucien was faster. With one swift motion, he grabbed her sore wrist and slammed her against the wall, showing no intention of letting her go.

His breath was too close, and his wood-scented cologne, mixed with the fresh smell of his post-shower body, made her dizzy.

"Trying to run AGAIN?" Lucien's voice was low and hoarse, drifting in her ear with an undeniable force.