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Chapter Four

Chapter Four

“Good. Get a new dress and underwears.”

He paused. He was speaking to someone on the phone. He had his back turned towards the bedroom as he stood in the large sitting room, facing the floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the beautiful and breathtaking city of New York.

He had grey sweatpants and a white body hug polo on. He slid his right hand into his pants pockets, while the other casually but firmly held his phone to his left ear. He looked casual in his outfit, but sincerely, he was gorgeous – even if he was the man I hated the most at that moment.

“The slut. The one from last night.” His voice calmly chimed into the phone, unremorseful.

I immediately denoted whom he was referring to, and a gush of anger suddenly exploded in me. I chuckled sadly, hoping to finally realise that I was only caught up in a dream. A very bad one at that.

I pulled the doors of the wardrobe open and searched through the clothes to see something that may fit. I just wanted to leave. I didn’t care what may happen next, but I couldn’t imagine myself accepting the clothes he had addressed to be for a slut, after he had outrageously peeled mine off in a fit of his roaring passions.

A black, plane hoodie caught my eyes. I pulled it out, scanning it quickly. It was long enough to cover my thighs and almost my knees too; that was how long it was. I was satisfied with its design, not so catchy, but pleasant.

I quickly drowned myself in the vastness of the hoodie. It felt, sadly, good, though a misfit. I turned away from the wardrobe and came face to face with Mr. Entitled.

He was watching me intently, and he had this confused yet amused look plastered on his face. I frowned and turned away from him, shutting the doors of the wardrobe, and when I turned back to face him, he had this “you didn’t even ask” kind of look on his face, but he didn’t say a word to me.

Let him dare!

I felt victorious as I walked past him to retrieve my Jordan boots and handbag from the corner of the luxurious bed. I pulled out a band from my bag and caught my hair in a low, pulled back, ponytail, that allowed my curly hair to float beautifully around my shoulders and back.

He stood beside me from where I was, tying my hair. He had both hands casually slid into his pants pocket, giving him a very modelled and stoic look.

“I understand your confusion. Though I didn’t give a proper introduction or a spare picture, be sure you’re in the right room.”

He said with the airs of a proud, super bossy CEO. He spoke slowly with his back turned away from me and his face tilted to a slightly diagonal angle, as if he had another audience directly above him.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, with my back turned to him.

He pointed at a stack of money on the rich, extravagant bedside table, directing me to take them as my tip. He was treating me like a total, professional slut. I couldn’t just understand this madness.

“My chauffeur will soon be here with your dress and underwears.” Like I asked for it.

I turned to look at him quickly with hatred and humiliation encircling me.

“You’re welcome.”

He muttered gloriously and turned to leave, but I brushed past him, taking my bag with me and walking as fast as I could, though unsteadily, because of my sores.

“Are you sore?”

A hint of concern was in his deep, masculine voice, which irritated me more. I paused in my tracks by his sudden intrusion. I was just a few steps from the door, but my feet seemed too heavy to move. I was quiet. I wanted to just turn around and kill this man if I could and make him feel a little bit of my pain.

Why does he even care?

“Answer me!”

He demanded. He was pissed, angry even.

“No!”

I screamed back at him, immediately. Fury was evident in my voice.

I turned to him slowly, looking into the pools of his grey, enchanting, yet menacing eyes, with anger and pain clustered in the abundance of my eyes.

“No. I’m not hurt.” I said more coolly with pain and hatred, and after what seemed like a berating silence, I added a mock “sir”, and bounced out of the room immediately, banging the door behind me as hard as I could.

I could tell from the look on his face that he was even more confused than I was, which got me so exasperated and flustered.


I looked around wearily for the old, kind man I met last night that gave me a glint of hope somehow, before Mr. Entitled ruined everything. He was a very humorous, sweet, old fellow.

He was busy running a campaign for his little granddaughter. She was researching one of the most daunting topics one could ever imagine for a child her age.

She was exploring the percentage of ladies living in New York that had STD’s, and was trying to create awareness about how unsafe sex and untreated or mistreated infections or STD’s could be harmful, as that was the cause of her mother’s death.

I was touched by her new found passions, even though she wasn’t there with her granddad, I gave my immense commendations to her and mentally hugged her for all she might have gone through without her mom beside her.

Usually, I wouldn’t even spare a minute with such research, but the backstory of it all made me change my mind.

The grand dad was there with a few DIY test kits and stacks of envelopes for ladies who had already done the test. There was a good number of turn ups too.

After the tests, he was surprised by how, according to him, slick and clean I was. I had shyly whispered to him that I had never done it before, so it would only come as a surprise if I had STDs.

But here I am, looking for him to just strike me out from the whole campaign stuff, since I wasn’t sure if I had gotten infected or not, but he was nowhere to be found, and worst of all, I didn’t even know his name.

I walked up to the blonde, pretty receptionist in the row of receptionists and asked her about him, since they all must be informed about such a campaign going on in their hotel, but she bluntly refused to know about any such campaign, and instead asked if I was fine.

“Yes… maybe no.” I replied in a gibberish way.

She had a concerned look on her face. Probably because of my swollen eyes and lips that had a tiny cut on its left side.

As I turned to leave, I saw a retreating figure of a man that looked exactly like the old man from behind, with the same coat he had on yesternight. He disappeared through the sliding glass doors as his figure stepped outside the reception lobby. I couldn’t call him – I didn’t even know his name, and I was too weak for that.

I walked after him immediately, but careful not to bruise my sores more, and as fast as I could just to catch up with him. But he was faster, he had disappeared again into the little crowd.

As I walked slowly around the car lobby, hoping to find him, someone suddenly hugged me tightly from behind, and I was trapped in a firm hug.

Who the hell is it?

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