The man spat straight into Charlotte’s face.
Her knuckles turned white as she clenched her fists, but she didn’t move a muscle.
More and more spit landed on her hair, her shoulders, her arms.
Some of them, done with their little act of cruelty, pressed their palms together in mock prayer. “Bless me! Best of luck, make me rich! Amen…”
The humiliation gnawed at every cell in Charlotte’s body.
But for the chance to compete again, she endured it in silence.
Just as another crowd of gawkers gathered around, the sky darkened overhead.
Without warning, a torrential downpour crashed down, scattering the onlookers in seconds.
Rainwater washed ruthlessly over Charlotte’s frail figure.
Her vision blurred, the world swayed, and she couldn’t hold herself upright anymore.
A tall figure approached, an umbrella shielding him from the rain.
Polished leather shoes stopped before her.
Charlotte’s neck felt stiff as she forced herself to look up. Through the haze, she could just make out the sharp features beneath the umbrella.
She tried to pull her lips into a smile, her voice hoarse and weak. “Darren… Give me back my place in the competition…”
Before she could finish, everything went black, and she collapsed.
When she finally drifted back to consciousness, her body felt as if it were being scrubbed raw, plunged in water. Instinctively, she struggled.
A man’s low, commanding voice sounded above her. “Don’t move.”
It was Darren.
Her resistance only grew fiercer, until his threat lashed down: “Do you want to lose your spot in the competition?”
The words shackled her instantly. She went still.
He washed her roughly in the cramped bathtub, relentless as a storm. There was no gentleness in his hands—only dominance and punishment.



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