บททั้งหมดของ CEO's Only Wife: บทที่ 111 - บทที่ 120

“I made them pay.” He whispered again, his voice cold and short, but the words meant nothing to me, even though I suspected they were extremely important to him. Only his arms mattered, just the hard, solid feeling of tangible flesh enclosing me was enough. His embrace does everything his lips can't or won't do, they tell you you're safe and I'll protect you, even look like you care for me, even if It's chaotic, but everything is chaotic. Through it all, his lips just kept repeating, "I made them pay," and I felt something different but still very real, more real than anything. I hate him but at the same time I don't hate him, I don't understand anything anymore, worse than myself. I wept for a long time, taking solace in his deceptively comfortable arms. Illusions, fantasies, very helpful. I never wanted to leave. I want to stay here forever, clutching his chest, his fingers brushing my hair, his heartbeat in my ears: you-be-safe, trust-me-love, love you. Love. Do I want him to lov

What happened to you, Eric? Who did this to you? And why are you doing this to me now? I looked at his face, his features hard but not showing his usual attitude. But I still feel it. At one point, in all the knowledge I gathered from movies and radio, I realized the intensity of humanity and why I was drawn to that fantasy world. Each work tries to show the human condition, in all its good, bad and worst aspects. At first, it was just an extension of my own life, strangely reflected in that 'fictional' world. Every story wants, doesn't - needs to - to reveal the fragility, the bond that connects people to what they do and who they have in mind. Those stories are a bit real and sometimes horrifying, but people are still people, and parts don't tell the whole story. I have seen many different parts of this man named Eric. What would his whole being, unprotected and vulnerable? Who is this man that can do this to me, to anyone, and still be able to live well? And what kind of person a

There's a reason I don't want to sleep. I don't want to dream. I don't want to think about my mother, or Paulo, or my brothers and sisters. Or everything between Eric and me. I especially don't want to picture Nicole, beautiful, lost Nicole wandering around Mexico looking for me. If anything happens to her, I will never forgive myself. I was tossing and turning as anger, sadness, and worry swirled through my mind. The pain in my shoulder didn't help, and rolling over caused a dull ache as if it were part of my bones. And then the inevitable happened. Whispering voices. Memories of being crushed while they stripped me of my clothes. The way they ignored my screams while they sucked and held me. Once again, I felt it again - the crushing blow. Against the power of the potion, I forced myself to open my eyes and shouted. Trying to draw in air for my burning lungs, I tried to focus again. Eric's body jerked in his seat, then he turned on the light. Awareness comes. I'm safe. I'm her

I want to cry. But crying didn't help before and certainly won't help now. "How much?" "What's that?" "Later. When I'm no longer your whore, how much will you pay me? Whores usually get paid, right?” Eric stared at me almost forever, then said, “What do you want?” “My freedom. But what about a million dollars instead?” The word came out as a question, not a firm request. In fact, he didn't have to give me anything. I have nothing to bargain for. He can take anything he wants. "A million dollars? That's a bit too much, don't you think?" "Fuck you." Eric smiled, the carefree brat. "Forgive me," he scoffed with a solemn bow, "I mean: there's no such thing as a 'little girl'. Even though my 'little girl' is pretty close.” Now he's trying to stun me again, and if I'm still the naive schoolgirl he met weeks ago, the trick might have worked. But now I'm not her anymore, what a pleasure. I am so strong. Perhaps the calculating, angry, fighting side of me has taken full control, and I

The truth is now exposed. He would never forget the look in her eyes when he told her how he planned to sell her as a pleasure slave. What does he expect? That she would understand? Revenge is his goal. She couldn't understand it, not yet. He will be haunted forever. One more memory among the hundreds that always haunted him. Except he's always been the victim in it. Always a boy, never a man. Now, the kind of person he had become would haunt him as well. Eric collapsed in front of the bathroom door. He needed a minute, to breathe, to stop himself from vomiting, and to face the jumbled thoughts that were tearing him apart. For the first time in his most recent memory, Eric wanted something else for revenge. He wants the girl. He wants Nana. He knew her name now, but that was the least he knew about her right now. He knew a lot about her--perhaps too much. She wears baggy clothes to school because she wants her mother to love her. Her eyes were troubled because she knew she never was.