Chapter 116: The Shadow of a Memory

“Look who we have here” said Norman as he closed the door immediately he entered the room.

The heavy click of the lock echoed in the small, red-lit room like a gunshot. It was the sound of finality. The sound of a cage closing. The room was suffocating. The walls were padded with dark foam that seemed to absorb the air, leaving only the smell of expensive cologne and the metallic tang of fear. The single red bulb hanging from the ceiling cast long, distorted shadows that danced on the floor, making the scene look like something out of a nightmare.

Emily was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands gripping the silk sheets so tight that her knuckles were white. The gold dress Aria had given her felt heavy on her skin, like a costume she didn't know how to wear. When the door opened, she had expected a guard. Maybe even Aria coming to get her. But when she saw the silver hair, the sharp suit, and the cold, dead eyes of Norman Malcovich, her blood froze in her veins.

“You've got the wrong lady Mr Norman”.

Her voice shook. It wasn't the tough voice she used back in the hood when dealing with drunks at the diner. It was a small, terrified voice. She scrambled backward on the bed, her heels catching on the silk. She looked around the room, searching for a window, a vent, anything. But there was nothing. Just the red light and the man standing by the door.

Emily said retreating back “Please. I am just a guest. There has been a mistake.”

Norman didn't even blink. He looked at her with a calm, terrifying detachment. To him, she wasn't a person. She was a package. A gift from Marcus Gerry. A commodity to be used and discarded. He reached up and loosened the knot of his silk tie. The sound of the fabric sliding was loud in the silence.

“Are you scared? Gerry, can not make that mistake little angel”

He chuckled, a low, dry sound that had no humor in it. He threw the tie onto the floor. He began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his chest. He was an old man, but he was still powerful. He had the same build as Ethan, but where Ethan was muscle and warmth, Norman was iron and ice.

“Marcus knows what I like,” Norman said, taking a step forward. His shoes crunched on the carpet. “He told me he had a special treat. A blonde in gold. And here you are. Gold wrapping paper. Just waiting to be opened.”

Emily scrambled off the bed on the other side, putting the mattress between them. She was breathing fast, her chest heaving up and down. The gold dress slipped slightly off her shoulder, but she didn't care. She just wanted to get out.

“No!” Emily cried out. “I am not a gift! I am Emily! I am a friend of... ” She almost said Aria’s name, almost said Norah, but she stopped herself. She couldn't expose Aria. Not now. Even in her terror, the loyalty ran deep.

Norman ignored her protests. He didn't care about her name. He kicked his trousers aside. He stood there in his boxers, looking at her with a hunger that made her skin crawl. It wasn't just lust. It was something darker. It was a need to dominate. To take.

“Come here,” Norman commanded. He didn't shout. He just spoke with the authority of a man who owned the city.

But Emily kept moving backward until her back landed on the cold wall near the headboard.

There was nowhere left to go. The wall was hard and freezing against her bare skin. She pressed herself against it, trying to merge with the plaster, trying to disappear. She watched Norman walk around the bed. He moved slowly. He was enjoying the chase. He liked the fear in her eyes. It made him feel powerful. It made him feel young again.

He stood in front of her, looming over her. He smelled of whiskey and old money. He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing against her cheek. His skin was rough.

“I'm sorry but believe me….” She started to beg, tears streaming down her face, ruining her makeup. “I am not who you think I am. Please let me go.”

She couldn't finish when Norman landed a thunderous slap on her face.

The sound was sickening. Smack. It echoed in the small room. Emily’s head snapped to the side. Her cheek burned as if he had pressed a hot iron against it. The force of the blow knocked the wind out of her. She slumped slightly, her hand flying to her face, her eyes wide with shock.

“Keep shut and do what you're paid for, you slut” Norman hissed.

His face was inches from hers now. His eyes were wild. The mask of the polite businessman was gone. This was the real Norman Malcovich. The monster.

“You think I care about your little games?” Norman spat, saliva hitting her face. “Marcus paid you. Marcus gave you to me. That makes you mine for the hour. So stop the crying act. It bores me.”

Emily held onto her face while Norman drew down his pants leaving his body bare.

She stared at the floor, tears dripping off her chin onto the gold dress. Her cheek throbbed. Her ear was ringing. She realized then that there was no escape. If she screamed, no one would hear her. The room was soundproof. If she fought him, he would kill her. She had seen the way the bodyguards looked. They would dispose of her body in a dumpster and no one would ever know.

She was a waitress from the hood. She wasn't a spy. She wasn't a hero. She was a survivor. And survivors did what they had to do to live.

Norman moved away from her. He walked over to the bed and sat down heavily on the edge. The mattress creaked under his weight. He spread his legs, leaning back on his hands, looking at the ceiling.

“Just get me busy. I want to forget this face of my son's fiancee that looks like my old memory”.

Emily froze. Her hand stopped trembling for a second. My son's fiancée. He was talking about Norah. About Aria.

That looks like my old memory.

What did that mean? Emily’s mind raced, even through the fear. Norman hated Aria. Emily had seen the way he looked at her earlier in the VIP section. It wasn't just lust. It was recognition. It was hatred. He never liked Aria, even though he approved her as her son's fiancee.

Norman closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. “She walks like her,” he muttered to himself, forgetting Emily was even there. “She has the same eyes. The same defiance. It makes me sick. Every time I look at Norah, I see the past coming back to haunt me. Who is she?”

Emily almost heard him but it was faint, she couldn't hear properly. She caught the words "haunt me" and "Norah." She realized that Aria was in more danger than she knew. Norman wasn't just a lecherous old man. He was a man fighting ghosts. And he wanted to use Emily to erase those ghosts for a moment.

Norman opened his eyes and looked at Emily, who was still pressed against the wall. His eyes were impatient now.

“Well?” he barked. “What are you waiting for? An invitation? Get over here.”

Emily swallowed the bile in her throat. She wiped her eyes. She pushed herself off the wall. Her legs felt like jelly. Every step toward the bed felt like walking to the gallows.

She looked at the man sitting there. He was disgusting. He was everything wrong with the world. But he held the power.

Her trembling fingers fumbled with the straps of the gold dress. She pushed them down. The fabric pooled at her waist, then fell to the floor. She stepped out of it. She stood there in her underwear, shivering in the red light. She felt stripped of her dignity. She felt stripped of her humanity.

She didn't look at his face. She couldn't bear to see the satisfaction in his eyes.

She closed her eyes tight. She pretended she was somewhere else. She pretended she was back in her small apartment, watching TV. She pretended she was back at the diner, pouring coffee. She blocked out the smell of him. She blocked out the sound of his breathing.

She went on her knees and took his dick whole in her mouth.

She continued sucking with her face in fear.

It was mechanical. It was survival. Tears leaked from her closed eyes, running down her face, mixing with the sweat on her skin. She gagged slightly, but she forced herself to continue. She knew the rules of the street. You don't stop until the man is done. If you stop, you get hurt.

If she tries to fight Norman she will never live to tell the story. She knew this with absolute certainty. He was a man who could make people disappear with a phone call. He had guards outside who would break her neck without blinking.

So she did the only thing she could do. She submitted.

Emily continued sucking so hard while Norman was moaning.

He leaned his head back, his hands gripping the silk sheets. He wasn't looking at her. He wasn't thinking about Emily. In his mind, he was destroying something else. He was conquering a memory.

“Oh princess….” he groaned, his voice thick and distorted.

He reached down, his hand gripping Emily’s hair. He pulled tight, forcing her to go deeper, forcing her to take his pain and his rage. It hurt. Her scalp burned. But she didn't make a sound. She just let the tears fall.

“Make me forget that girl's face…..” Norman shouted at the ceiling. He wasn't talking about Emily’s face. He was talking about Aria.

He thrust his hips forward, lost in his own twisted world. The red light seemed to pulse with his anger.

“Yeah… make me forget slut!!!”

He was panting now, close to the edge. His grip on her hair tightened until she thought he would rip it out.

“She can never be my daughter in-law!”

The words exploded out of him. It was a vow. It was a threat. It was a declaration of war. He hated Aria. He hated what she represented.

Emily choked back a sob, her throat raw, her heart shattering into a million pieces. She was just a pawn in a game she didn't understand. And as Norman Malcovich used her to erase his demons, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

“Make me forget!” he roared one last time.