After showering, I lit a cigarette. Halfway through it, the hotel room door pushed open. I looked at the man in the doorway, startled and panicked. My twenty-eighth john was my husband. I finished my cigarette, stubbed it out, and calmed down. Getting up, I switched the mood lighting to purple. Then, a thought struck me, and I smiled, looking at my husband still standing in the doorway. “Maybe we should change the mood lights, since you’re already here… indulging.” Brandon’s face hardened with rage. He slammed the door shut, stormed over, and clamped his hands around my throat, pinning me to the bed before he slapped me hard. “Chloe Peterson, how *dare* you!” My head swam with stars, but I didn’t resist his furious accusation. Instead, my whole body relaxed, and a laugh bubbled out of me. For three years, they’d called me a shrew, a psycho. I’d almost forgotten. I still had a name. Chloe Peterson. I grew up in a small town. My parents, despite their modest incomes, barely scraped enough together to put me through college. The year I graduated, my parents set me up with Brandon. Brandon was a good catch. Tall, handsome, fair-skinned. His family was well-off, owning a couple of properties, and he was their only child. My mom always said meeting Brandon was like hitting the jackpot – a cosmic gift I’d earned in a past life. I was twenty-two then, Brandon was twenty-four. He was still the young man who’d brave the cold wind to bring me warm coffee and pastries. He’d never dated, and neither had I. Two clueless virgins crashing into each other, yet somehow, we ignited a fierce passion. Soon after, we walked down the aisle. I thought it was the beginning of a blissful life, but it was just the first step into hell. The very night our wedding ended, his family not only confiscated the cash gifts my family had brought but then demanded a dowry from me. I stood my ground, refusing. His mother started wailing. In the midst of the argument, Brandon slapped me. The force of it sent me sprawling to the floor, my mind a blur. That year, I was twenty-three, and two months pregnant. Afterward, I insisted on a divorce. My parents pleaded with me, begging me to forgive Brandon, for the sake of the tiny life inside me. A two-month-old fetus might not be considered a ‘person’ by some, but I could feel its presence, so vividly real. In the end, I softened. I didn’t terminate that little life, and I went back home with Brandon. * “Chloe Peterson, I’ll kill you!” “Kill your cash cow? Would you really dare?” Brandon’s anger intensified, and his grip on my throat tightened. I didn’t fight back, just stared coldly at his face. Under the purple mood lights, his furious face twisted, becoming grotesque, like a devil’s. No, Brandon *was* a devil. “Chloe Peterson, you overestimate yourself! Without you, I’ll find another!” He wasn’t falling for my taunts. He grabbed a pillow and pressed it down hard over my face. The air was instantly sucked out of my lungs. I started to suffocate, a terrible, desperate struggle. Just as I felt I was dying, I heard a rough kicking at the door, followed by chaotic footsteps. “Police!” “Get up! Hands on your head and down on the floor!” The pressure on the pillow vanished, and it puffed back up. I pulled it away, the purple ambient light blurring my vision. “Are you okay?” The officer in uniform was young, looked about twenty-three or twenty-four, and spoke with a gentle voice. I glanced at her outstretched hand but didn’t take it. Instead, I pushed myself up from the bed, tying my loosely opened bathrobe. “Officer, I’m a sex worker. You don’t have to be gentle with me.” Watching Officer Sarah’s startled expression, I smiled, even as my eyes pricked with tears.
When I was twenty-four, I lost the baby and had my uterus removed. I’d never be a mother. In the ICU, my mind was clear, but my body was completely numb, hooked up to various machines. My mom came in and didn’t say a word, just cried. Watching her, I also shed tears, struggling to push out the words, “I want a divorce.” “Child, you can’t leave him!” “You’re… different now.” My mom’s words were veiled, but I understood immediately. A fire of anger surged through me. “It was *them*! They did this to me!” I couldn’t scream; my throat was raw, my voice ragged, but the rage and despair were unmistakable. My mom wiped her tears and squeezed my hand. “This isn’t the time to be stubborn. You’re like this now; if you divorce, who will want you? Your mother knows best, Chloe. I wouldn’t lead you astray. Listen to me. When you get out of the hospital, go back to Brandon and live your life. You’re different now. You need to be even better to Brandon if you want to keep him.” I stared at her face, etched with what looked like concern, and the fury in my chest suddenly dissipated. She squeezed my hand tighter. “Did you hear me? For your sake, we even returned the dowry money to their family! Don’t make us worry anymore!” Her face was plastered with ‘I’m doing this for your own good,’ and as I watched, my tears stopped falling. All I wanted to do was laugh. I guess a woman just *needs* a man in her life, right? * “Young woman, with so many things you could be doing, why *this*? Can’t you live without a man?” The officer questioning me was an older man, maybe in his late forties or early fifties. He clanged his thermos loudly on the table the moment he walked into the interrogation room. I watched him the whole time, and when our gazes met, his filled with disgust. I just curved my lips into a smile. “That’s right. I can’t.” “Do you even realize where you are? Get serious!” Officer Miller wasn’t amused. He picked up his thermos and slammed it down again. I leaned back in my chair, getting as comfortable as I could. “Officer, I’m just answering your question. I *am* serious.” He looked about to slam the thermos down again when a younger officer called him out. I glanced over. The young officer had a good build, but I didn’t get a clear look at his face. Soon after, the young officer entered and took Officer Miller’s place. My gaze traveled from his long legs upwards, finally reaching his face. The moment I recognized him, I panicked, lowering my head and straightening up awkwardly. The handcuffs on my wrists glinted, and I frantically clasped my hands together to hide them. Ryan Stone. How could it be him? How could it be *him*?! * “Do you know who that is?” It was my freshman year of college. I was stumbling through my introduction during student government club tryouts when I heard the voice. I looked up, following the gazes of the other students. I noticed the young man sitting in the middle. He wore a dark trench coat, his posture casual, almost lazy, yet he exuded a cool indifference. When his eyes met mine, I panicked, looking down and shaking my head. I’d only been enrolled for a month; I barely knew my roommates. “That’s Ryan, our club president. You don’t know him?” “Don’t tease her! Hey, I’ve got a question for you: if Ryan broke a rule and you caught him, would you report it?” As the question hung in the air, someone else chimed in, egging me on. My mind went blank, but I nodded. “Yes. I’d report him.” They all laughed. I kept my head down, my palms sweating from nerves.
“Chloe Peterson.” Ryan’s voice was low and magnetic. I nervously looked up, met his gaze, and then quickly looked away. “She’ll do. She’s in.” “She’ll *do*? What do you mean?” I listened to the questioning, nervous but also eager for Ryan’s answer. “More straightforward than any of you.” I froze for a moment. I’d always been labeled ‘honest,’ but this was the first time anyone had ever called me ‘straightforward.’ I looked up, but Ryan had already gotten up. All I saw was his retreating back in the dark coat. * “Chloe Peterson.” Ryan’s voice was still low and magnetic, but his tone was strictly official. My gaze had nowhere to land, so it settled on my red painted nails. “Your husband claims he didn’t know you were prostituting yourself. He said he lashed out because he blacked out with rage. Do you agree with this statement?” I clenched my hands, my body trembling slightly before completely slumping, like a puddle, a deflated rag doll in the chair. “He knew. He was trying to kill me.” I looked up, but I didn’t have the courage to meet Ryan’s eyes. I just stared at the hand holding his pen. His hands were still as beautiful as I remembered. My resolve crumpled, and I shifted my gaze away from his hands. “He forced me into prostitution.” “Elaborate.” Ryan didn’t question me, which surprised me. Even my own parents didn’t believe me; they even cut ties with me. “I had a hysterectomy.” “Because of an infection from the stillbirth.” “My baby was just 97 days from being born.” I spoke with difficulty, my throat raw. As my emotions teetered on the edge of breaking, a cup of water appeared before me. The hand holding the cup had prominent knuckles. I looked up. My eyes were full of tears, and the overhead lights blurred through them, making everything swim, even Ryan, standing before me, appeared to have a double. Perhaps it was that blurred vision that gave me the courage not to look away. “They said since I couldn’t bear a son for their lineage, couldn’t give the ‘family name’ an heir, then I should earn money for their family instead.” “They forced me into prostitution.” Maybe my gaze made Ryan uncomfortable; he deliberately looked away, walked back, and sat down. “We will investigate and verify your claims. If they are true, we will prosecute to the fullest extent of the law and get you justice.” Hearing his official tone, I lowered my head, no longer trying to hide my handcuffed hands. The silver surface reflected my face, heavily made up, like a ghost. I scoffed at myself. I couldn’t even remember what my face looked like without makeup in college, let alone Ryan. “Why did the baby… become stillborn?” Ryan’s voice had softened, but his question ignited my emotions. My body began to tremble uncontrollably. “They made me drink something.” “What kind of ‘something’?” Seeing the confused expression on Ryan’s face, my reason took control of my emotions, and my body stopped trembling. “Officer Ryan, do you believe in karma? In poetic justice?” Ryan paused, then his expression immediately turned serious. “I believe in the fairness and justice of the law.” I didn’t speak, just smiled. No wonder he switched schools and majors back then. But, is there any justice or fairness for *women* in this world? * “A girl? How could it be a *girl*?!” “You worthless jinx! You can’t even give birth to a son! What good are you anyway?!” When I was three months pregnant, my mother-in-law used every trick in the book to find out the baby’s gender from the doctor. Right outside the OB/GYN office, she pointed her finger in my face and screamed at me. It was a weekend, and the clinic was crowded. Everyone was staring. My face burned with shame. I tugged at my mother-in-law’s sleeve, trying to make her stop, but she just raised her hand and slapped me across the face.
“You’re a good-for-nothing, and you’re having another good-for-nothing! Don’t touch me! Such a jinx!” “What did our family ever do to deserve a woman like you?!” I covered my face, gritting my teeth, refusing to let the tears fall in front of everyone. “What are you standing there for? Aren’t you embarrassed enough? Get your worthless self home!” “I can’t stand the sight of you! Always that dead-fish face, it’s bad luck!” My mother-in-law ranted and raved, not waiting for me, and took a cab home. Penniless, I had to walk. By the time I got home, Brandon was already home from work. The moment he saw me, his face was a mask of irritation and disgust. “Where have you been so late? No dinner made.” “I worked all day and come home to no hot meal! What am I keeping you for?!” I hadn’t even had a chance to speak when Brandon grabbed my hair and dragged me into the kitchen, pressing my head against the counter. He picked up a cleaver and slammed it onto the cutting board, holding it menacingly close to my face. “If I don’t get dinner when I get home, I’ll chop your head off!” I shielded my stomach, staring at my reflection in the blade, biting my lip hard to hold back my tears. Out of the corner of my eye, Brandon’s parents sat in the living room, casually watching TV as if nothing was happening. This went on until I was four months pregnant. Just as I was about to go numb, my mother-in-law fell ill. My parents, with forced smiles, managed to get her a bed at one of the city’s top hospitals. My mom said that was all they could do for me. I wanted out, but my mom just told me I couldn’t escape anymore, not with a baby on the way. If marriage was a cage trapping me, then this child was the lock on that cage. After my mother-in-law recovered, her attitude towards me changed. Even my father-in-law and Brandon became kinder. When I was five months pregnant, my mother-in-law started preparing various nourishing soups for me. At the time, I truly believed the dark clouds had finally parted, until that night she brought me a bowl of special herbal tea, supposedly for the baby’s health.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “297039”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic
Leave a Reply