"You're a hooker. You sure you wanna call the police? Sure, I'll wait. The money is at the head of the bed. You can go now." The warm light hit the man's resolute side face, and his words were as icy as his look.
After he said that, he entered the bathroom, and soon there came the sound of rushing water.
Beatrice Grant sat on the bed in a daze.
What did he mean by hooker and money? She had a husband. How could she be a hooker?
Last night, she was having a candlelight dinner with her husband, Marshall Holland. But later, she got a little dizzy somehow, so her husband helped her home.
She woke up halfway and found herself in a motel. There was a plump man taking off her clothes.
She escaped. Before she passed out again, she clung to a man's trousers, begging him to take her away.
And it was the man who had brought her to this hotel!
He should have known that she wasn't a hooker, but he still used such words to humiliate her!
"No..." Slowly, her memories flashed back. Beatrice covered her face, as tears welled up in her eyes. Her heart was tightening, and she knew that she was being naive.
Last night, she must have been drugged.
"No!" She couldn't believe it. How could she have slept with another man? Filled with regret, she was wondering what she should do next.
She stumbled out of bed but couldn't find her clothes anywhere, so she picked up the man's clothes from the sofa and put them on quickly.
Then, glancing at the check on the bedside table, she gritted her teeth and picked it up.
It was written with 50,000, and there was a scrawled signature below— Lochlan Campbell.
Beatrice glared hatefully in the direction of the bathroom, thinking how dare he take away her virginity with 50 grand. She would make him pay for it!
Now, she wanted to go home and find out what was going on.
Beatrice took the check and went straight to the lobby. Slapping the check on the counter, she demanded with a sullen face, "The guest in room 801 needs a rent boy. Now."
"Room 801? Isn't that Mr. Campbell—"
Before the desk lady could finish off her words, Beatrice interrupted her, "Can't you see his signature on it? Pick a good one and let him serve Mr. Campbell well. Hurry up, or he's gonna get angry!"
After Beatrice said that, she tightened the oversized suit around her and walked out of the hotel.
Feeling the pockets of the suit, she found no money in there, so she had no choice but to walk home with her sore body.
Fortunately, the hotel was not too far from her place.
When Lochlan came out of the shower, he found that Beatrice had already left, and the check on the bedside table was also gone.
There was a flash of disdain in his eyes, as he took her as another woman who wanted to climb into his bed. Usually, for those kinds of women, he would just dismiss them with money.
Just then, there came footsteps outside the room.
A coquettish man timidly walked up to him. "Mr. Campbell, I'm here to serve you."
Serve him?
Instantly, Lochlan's face darkened. "Who told you to come?"
"A y-young lady had called the service for you, and your signature is on the check, so I—"
"Get lost!"
Lochlan's face went completely black. How dare she!
