C19 You Can't Take It Anymore and Still dare to Find a Man?

He snorted with disdain, "Can't handle it and you're still chasing after men?"

His multiple layers of clothing peeled away.

I was freezing.

Shivering from the cold, I caught sight of the man's hand close by.

Without a second thought, I lowered my head and sank my teeth into it.

Back in prison, brawling with death row inmates, I'd mastered a tactic: once you bite down on your enemy, never let go too easily.

Otherwise, you're inviting a fiercer beating.

So I bit down with all the might I could muster.

Before long, a familiar sweet, metallic taste filled my mouth—the taste of blood.

His muffled groan of pain only fueled my resolve, and I bit down even harder.

Despite his groans, he made no move to escape, simply enduring my bite.

I overexerted myself, aggravating the injury on my waist.

The one from a billiard ball.

The pain flared up again.

Stubbornly, I refused to release my grip, my lips numb and my teeth quivering.

The pain in my waist intensified, as if my bones were splintering.

"Let go," he finally commanded, his voice low and cold, stripped of its earlier venom.

I slowly released my bite.

Not because he ordered it, but because of the searing pain in my waist.

Once I let go, my mouth was awash with blood, my vision dimmed, and my strength drained away. I collapsed onto the carpet.

The wound on my waist felt as though it had been ripped open anew, the pain excruciating.

Curled up, I desperately sought some relief from the agony.

Amidst my convulsions, I felt a large hand rest on my forehead, then slide downward.

Then came his cold scoff, "I thought you reserved your cruelty for me, but it seems you're even harsher on yourself. Biting me so viciously with your injuries—foolish woman! Utterly foolish!"

Sweat blurred my eyes, rendering the world indistinct.

I barely registered him lifting me, likely onto the couch, as my surroundings softened beneath me.

A warm, large hand gently caressed my aching waist, soothing the pain bit by bit.

I wanted to kick away the shameless scoundrel.

But my legs wouldn't budge.

His voice broke through, "The bones are okay; it looks like a muscle injury. I'll apply some medicine—just bear with it."

So, he hadn't been taking liberties with me; he was checking for rib damage.

I had no idea what kind of medicine he was using.

But soon, the pain began to ebb away like a receding tide.

I sat up, intending to take the ointment from him and continue applying it myself.

He raised an eyebrow and suddenly lifted his arm.

I gave him a look but didn't reach for it, instead, I sullenly dressed and buttoned up.

Rising to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice, lazy and resonant, followed me.

"I'm going back." I had no desire to remain as a drunkard's punching bag.

"Did I say you could leave?"

"What more do you want?" I spun around, my irritation clear, "Wesley, I work for your company, but my job is to sell houses, nothing more. If you're not done with your drunken tirade, find someone else to vent on. I'm a low-level employee; I have neither the right nor the duty to be your target!"

I felt a rush of satisfaction from my outburst.

But then, meeting his deep, intense gaze, my heart skipped with trepidation.

Only then did I belatedly remember my hard-won job...

During his silent minutes, I felt like meat on a chopping block.

He remained quiet, lighting another cigarette.

Silence filled the house.

He smoked continuously, occasionally knocking off ash, now and then casting a contemplative glance my way, as if wrestling with some complex issue.

My heart twisted with anxiety.

At last, he stubbed out the cigarette in the glass ashtray, a wisp of blue smoke still curling around his face. His voice was low and detached, "Be mine."

"What?"

I thought I'd misheard.

He sparked up yet another cigarette: "What do you want? Money? A house? A car? Jewelry? Name it, and I, Wesley, will make it happen for you."

"Why?" That question blurted out without a thought, purely on instinct.

He lifted his gaze, his eyes clear and lucid, not at all like those of a man who'd had too much to drink. "I find your body very intriguing."

I almost snorted with laughter.

And felt foolish for even asking.

I was just humiliating myself.

There's no way his request stemmed from any sort of affection for me.

I'm the murderer he despises the most. How could he possibly have any interest in me?

Yet, in his earlier frenzy, I almost mistook his jealousy for something more. And when he demanded I become his woman, I couldn't help but entertain the illusion that he might have feelings for me.

But now it's clear. His jealousy wasn't born out of desire, but out of annoyance that another man coveted the body of a woman he once claimed.

I didn't know whether to laugh or take pride in that. After all, he is Wesley, the renowned aristocrat, openly admitting his interest in the body of a woman fresh out of prison. How much pride did he have to swallow to say that?

No wonder he took so long to deliberate. He was wrestling with his own desires, torn about whether to voice them.

If it weren't for my need for the job, I would've marched right up to him and slapped his face hard.

But I refrained.

I dashed for the door.

Despite always being demeaned, like when he used me for work or when I had to meet with the detestable Mateo.

In that moment, I felt the sting of shame once again.

This man, he's a master at making others feel disgrace with just a few words.

Since the day I was incarcerated, I knew the word 'love' was forever severed from my life.

But when Wesley spoke, I shamelessly harbored a fleeting hope for love.

I was even ready to lash out and humiliate him if he confessed any feelings for me, but I lost before I even had the chance to strike.

That defeat left me feeling utterly worthless.

I despised him!

Just as I reached the door, before I could pull it open, his long leg blocked the way. "The conversation isn't over. What's the rush?"

Without a second thought, I threw a barb his way, "Director Haineville, don't you think having a murderer in your entourage is beneath you? If word gets out, you'll be the laughingstock of all Loxford!"

Instantly, he seized my jaw with a firm grip.

His eyes narrowed dangerously as he warned, "Hold your tongue. You ought to have learned from your time with that Xu fellow—men are esteemed for their strength, while women are valued for their gentleness. A tough woman will find it hard to attract a good man."