Chapter 49 Who Are You?
The waiter was guiding Jennifer toward a quiet corner when Layla appeared, breathless but smiling.
"Your manager's looking for you in the lobby. It's urgent. I'll take care of Ms. Brown—she's a friend," Layla offered smoothly.
The waiter hesitated, glancing at Layla's elegant gown and polished demeanor. After a brief pause, he handed Jennifer over. Layla dipped her head in thanks, jogging toward the lobby with her arm firmly around Jennifer.
The moment the waiter was out of sight, Layla's smile dropped like a mask. Her grip tightened on Jennifer, who was barely able to stand, her head swimming.
"What's so special about you?" Layla's voice was low, venom curling around each word. "Eugene swore he was only using you, but I could see it—he actually cared. Not that it matters. After tonight, you'll be nothing but a cheap whore in his eyes. And your sugar daddy Francis? He'll look at you like you're filth."
Her lips curled in satisfaction at the thought.
Layla steered Jennifer down the hall, stopping at the last door. She slipped a key under a flowerpot, exactly as planned, and walked away without looking back.
Minutes later, a thin man with an unsteady gait approached. He lifted the flowerpot, took the key, and let himself in. His skin was pale, dark shadows bruising the skin beneath his eyes—the telltale signs of someone worn down by excess. This was Leonard Hall, a spoiled heir with a taste for gambling and paid company.
Inside the dim room, Jennifer's body felt unnaturally warm. She shifted restlessly, pushing away the blanket, a soft sound escaping her throat.
The door creaked open. Leonard flicked on the night light, and his gaze locked on the curve of her figure beneath the dress. Desire flared in his eyes. He shut the door, turned the lock, and moved toward the bed with a hungry urgency.
"Baby, I'm here," he murmured, climbing onto the mattress.
His weight pressed down on her, jolting Jennifer awake. Before she could even open her eyes fully, hands were roaming over her body—cold, invasive. The nightmare haze she'd been trapped in shattered into something far more terrifying.
"Who are you? Get away!" Her voice was thin, trembling, her arms weak as she tried to push him off.
Leonard smirked. "Role-play, right? Let me guess—you're the innocent girl whose door gets kicked in by a stranger? That's really interesting." His tongue slid across his lips, eyes devouring her. She was worth every cent—more refined than any prostitute he'd had. Even her clothes screamed money.
Fear cut through the fog in Jennifer's mind. She tried to inch away, voice breaking. "I don't know you. Please, just let me go."
Her pleading only stoked his appetite. He pinned her wrists, his breath hot against her skin. His tongue traced her jaw, her neck. "That's right; we don't know each other. But your skin—God, it's perfect. Don't be scared. I'll make it good for you."
"Let me go!" Her body flinched at every touch, and the involuntary tremor in her muscles seemed to thrill him. His hands tugged at her shoulder straps, fingers sliding under her bra, kneading her breasts.
He shifted lower, the hem of her skirt riding up to bare her thighs. His mouth found her toes, breath ragged, before traveling upward along her calves.
Jennifer's stomach turned. She gathered what strength she had, kicking hard. Her foot connected with his mouth, splitting his lip against his teeth.
Leonard cursed, clutching his face. Blood smeared across his hand.
Jennifer shoved herself free, scrambling to her feet. But he lunged again, striking her twice across the face. The blows rang in her ears. He licked the blood from his lip, eyes gleaming.
"Bitch, you like it rough? I'll give you rough."
His hand closed around her throat, cutting off her breath. Her vision blurred, her limbs weakening. Tears spilled down her cheeks. The crushing weight of helplessness wrapped around her like chains.
He eased his grip, stroking her swollen cheek almost tenderly. "I don't like hitting women, but you hurt me. Make it up to me, and I won't hold it against you. A little violence makes it unforgettable."
Her dress tore at the neckline, fabric gaping to expose flushed skin. Her face was streaked with tears, hair tangled, yet she was heartbreakingly beautiful.
The sound of a belt buckle snapping open jolted her. His hands loosened for a second—enough.
Jennifer lunged sideways, slamming her palm against the fire alarm. The shrill siren exploded in the room, and the main lights flicked on, flooding the space with harsh brightness.
She grabbed the ashtray from the nightstand, holding it tight against her chest like a weapon.
Leonard froze. The alarm stripped away his arousal, replacing it with sharp panic. In the glare, the ruby necklace at her throat caught his eye—worth a fortune. Her clothes, her bearing… she wasn't a hired girl.
A cold realization slid down his spine. He yanked his pants up, covering his face with one hand, and bolted for the door.
Jennifer let out a sigh of relief and slumped weakly against the headboard. She had no strength left to chase after him, nor did she dare move. Her mind was in turmoil—she couldn't fathom why she was here, or who this man was.