Emily closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing, pushing down the emotions surging within her.“Mr. Norman, this is the ladies' restroom,” she said, her voice strained.“I know,” Satan replied, leaning in, seemingly inhaling the scent of her hair. “You changed your shampoo too.”“Mr. Norman, I came to the Great Wall Group to provide design support, not to discuss shampoos or menstrual cycles with you,” Emily said, her frustration barely concealed.Satan didn’t stop, lifting a strand of her hair from her shoulder, bringing it to his nose. “It’s true, it’s different. You used to use gardenia—light and fresh. Now, it’s lavender, much stronger.”Emily had enough. She reached out and gave him a hard push.Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to resist physically; he stumbled back a couple of steps.Free at last, Emily almost ran out, as though chased by a hundred demons.She wanted nothing more than to leave this place—especially when she was alone with him.Her menstrual cycle, her sham
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