Chapter 218
I let out a short gasp and instantly fell into an embrace reeking of alcohol.
The man's arm locked around my waist like an iron clamp, while his other hand pressed hard against my back with brutal force.
That scent was all too familiar—a mix of expensive woody cologne and alcohol that I once found intoxicating but now only made me sick.
My breathing immediately became erratic, my heart pounding—from shock, but even more from rage.
"Let go of me!" I hissed, pounding on his back and kicking at his shins.
But the drunk man was terrifyingly strong, completely ignoring my resistance.
His burning lips crashed down messily, hot with alcohol, trying to find my mouth.
I desperately turned my head away, waves of nausea rising.
In the chaos, his lips still pressed down hard, rough and forceful, his tongue brutally prying open my teeth.
The strong smell of alcohol filled the space between us , mixing with his cold scent.
My stomach churned violently, humiliation and fury instantly destroying my reason.
I gathered all my strength, brought up my knee, and slammed it hard into the man's most vulnerable spot!
A muffled groan.
The grip around me finally loosened.
George bent over in pain.
I seized the chance to push him away hard, stumbling back two steps myself until my back hit the cold security door. I gasped for air, my lips burning with pain, my heart surging with towering hatred.
But George still wouldn't give up. He staggered forward another step, groping in the dim light to grab my wrist, still with considerable force.
His head hung low, his breathing rough and hot against the back of my hand, mumbling incoherently in a voice so hoarse it didn't sound like his usual self, "Don't go, don't leave me, baby..."
That endearment was like a poisoned needle stabbing into my eardrums, making all my hair stand on end, a chill shooting from my feet to the top of my head.
He thought I was Sarah!
The overwhelming humiliation and rage made my whole body tremble. I raised my other free hand and with all my strength, slapped him hard across the face!
The crisp sound was especially jarring in the silent hallway.
"George! Are you sick or what?" My voice shook with anger.
That slap seemed to finally sober him up a bit.
George covered his face and slowly raised his head.
The faint moonlight from the hallway window outlined his sharp features, a clear handprint quickly appearing on his cheek.
His eyes were initially hazy, clouded with drunkenness, but when he saw my face full of disgust and anger, that confusion quickly faded, replaced by an extremely complex emotion.
Shock, confusion, even a hint of embarrassment he couldn't hide in time.
He released his grip on my hand, his eyes fixed on me, his voice hoarse, "You hit me?"
"You're damn right I hit you!" I frantically pulled tissues from my bag, wiping my lips forcefully and repeatedly, as if they were contaminated with the world's deadliest virus.
Only when my lips were rubbed raw and bleeding did I stop.
I looked up, meeting his dark, unreadable gaze, my lips curling into an undisguised mocking arc, "George, who exactly do you think I am? Your Sarah is at the Smith family now. Look clearly—I'm Grace. We're already divorced. Legally we're still in the cooling-off period, but to me, we're completely done!"
I stepped forward, staring him down, my voice low but each word ice-cold, "I don't know why you showed up here—whether you got drunk and came to the wrong door, or deliberately came to disgust me. I'm just telling you, you make me feel utterly sick right now. Next time you dare do this, I won't just slap you—I'll grab a knife!"
With that, I stopped looking at his face that had instantly turned dark and inscrutable. I quickly turned around, opened the door lock with slightly trembling hands, slipped inside, locked the door, and pulled the security chain.
Leaning against the cold door, I breathed heavily, my chest aching from extreme anger and humiliation.
My lips still seemed to carry that nauseating alcoholic taste and feel .
I raised my hand, irritably pushing my loose hair back, my fingertips trembling.
This apartment, this safe haven I once thought secure, now felt suffocatingly dangerous because of that person outside the door.
I couldn't stay here.
I pulled out my phone and called Emily, my voice still unsteady, "Emily, are you asleep? Can you come pick me up from my apartment?Can i sleep at your place tonight?"
Emily was silent for a second on the other end, asking not a single question, "Send me the address. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
When she arrived, the motion-sensor light in the hallway had somehow turned on again.
The hallway was empty—George was long gone.
Emily looked at my pale face and still-swollen lips, her eyes instantly turning cold, "He did this?"
I nodded, not wanting to say more.
"Bastard!" Emily cursed under her breath, grabbing my hand, "Come on, let's go to my place. Tomorrow I'll find a witch to get rid of your bad luck!"
Back at Emily's place, I went straight to the bathroom.
I turned the hot water to maximum and steam quickly filled the entire space.
I stood under the shower, washing myself over and over, especially my lips, scrubbing hard with a towel until my skin stung with pain.
The mirror was covered with a thick layer of steam.
I reached out and wiped away a patch, looking at myself in the mirror with swollen red lips.
The scene of George forcibly kissing me in the darkness replayed uncontrollably in my mind—his burning breath, his mumbled words...
Grievance and hatred surged over me like an icy tide.
I stayed in the bathroom for a long time—so long that Emily was restless outside and about to break down the door when I finally came out.
Emily practically lunged at me, grabbing my arm and looking me up and down, saying with lingering fear, "You're finally out. If you hadn't come out, I was about to call the police. You scared me to death."
Seeing her pale face, I paused, then forced a smile, "I'm fine. Did you think I couldn't handle it and would kill myself in there?"
Seeing I could still joke, Emily's tense nerves relaxed a bit.
But her eyes still showed fear, "How could I not be scared? You know, you used to..."
She stopped mid-sentence, quickly covering her mouth, nervously watching my expression.
My hand paused slightly while drying my hair.
Used to...
Right, I almost did that stupid thing before.
When George and Sarah's relationship became more and more blatant, when I was repeatedly neglected, ignored, and humiliated beyond recognition, I really did have that terrible thought.
Felt that everything was meaningless, that it would be better to end it all.
Fortunately, Milly had a fever that night and cried for me. Her tender cries calling for mommy pulled my near-breaking sanity back.
I rushed to the bed and held Milly, her little face flushed with fever, and suddenly realized—if I died, what would happen to Milly in this loveless home?
That's when I decided to live for Milly. I just never expected that I would still have suicidal thoughts later, jumping from the rooftop while—