Chapter 4- Passed out.

Melissa’s POV

“Chop chop!” he barked like I was a dog. The laugh that followed from the circle around him sounded like knives in my chest.

As bitter as the truth is, licking his shoes already felt like I was a dog but I had no choice. My hands were still stinging from the fall, and my dress smelled of spilled wine. I crawled forward on my palms and knees, each inch a small defeat, and pressed my tongue against the leather of his shoe the way he wanted.

He smirked and glanced around the room like a man watching an audience applaud. “There you go. Good girl,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “See? She’s so obedient.”

The word obedient landed like another slap. I wanted to lift my head, to spit in his face, to shove him and the rest of them and run until the city swallowed me whole. Instead I stayed low and tasted leather and shame.

Sophia's pale laugh leaned in, eyes glinting with triumph. “Well, Melissa,” she cooed, the tone so sugary it made my skin crawl, “truly, you are Tony’s obedient little tramp.”

Her voice was a deliberate blade. I had known her since college: the same girl who’d failed her finals and got kicked out, the same girl who’d tried and failed to charm Josh, my boyfriend at college back then. She’d always had this way of pretending our lives were a competition and I’d never even entered the race. She’d wanted Josh but when he refused her, she’d never forgiven me.

Now she was here, polished and cruel, and she took delight in my ruin.

Tony tossed his cigarette butt my way and it landed near my hand and hissed on the carpet. He watched me with interest, as if he’d staged all this for his own entertainment. The men and other ladies around him hooted and clapped like it was a show, and in turn, my throat tightened.

Sophia moved with a slow, deliberate grace and produced a plate, having a terrible, knowing grin plastered across her face. She set it down with finality. “Here’s your reward,” she announced. “Peanut cake.”

My heart sank at once. Anyone who knew me knew the simple fact she chose to ignore: I was allergic to peanuts. I could get sick and I could stop breathing if I dare eat that. And that shouldn’t have been secret and I could bet that Sophia knew. Of course she knew, as that could explain her smile widened like she was proud of herself.

“I can’t eat that,” I managed to say, the words thin and measured. “I’m allergic.”

Her eyes narrowed as if I’d lied. She bent forward, with mock concern on her lips. “But that’s the more reason you must eat it,” she purred. “It’ll be all fun.”

There was nowhere to go as the entrance here was already closed as the thought of running away went through my mind. Aside from that, the guards who came with Tony were inside, mostly watching the spectacle. Those who should have stopped it, the senior men who owed favours to Tony, only watched. Even Mrs. Morgan, Tony's mum was nowhere to be seen and the truth was that she tended to be absent most times when Tony wanted to humiliate me the most because of her schedules.

I lifted the plate slowly because resistance had become heavy and dangerous. If I refused, Tony would do something worse. If I obeyed, I could… survive this moment. That was the calculus I had become good at: small bets for safety.

“Need some help?” Sophia’s voice came from behind. Before I could pull back, her hand closed over the cake, and she shoved it roughly into my mouth. She laughed as I choked.

I gagged as my tongue fought the texture. She had smeared crumbs across my cheeks and thought it a masterpiece. People laughed, a low sound that felt like a storm. Someone pulled out a phone and I could see the glint of recording. 

In no time, it was like my throat began to tighten.

“I—” I croaked.

“Hospital,” I managed, the word felt terrible and raw. My fingers scrabbled for the tablecloth, for air, for something to steady me. My breath came short and hot and a prickling tightness crawled into my chest. My thoughts scrambled. ‘Don’t panic. Breathe!! Breathe!’ And so, I tried to push the panic away with everything inside me.

My hand brushed Tony’s shoe by mistake while I clutched at the table to rise. He jumped back as if burnt. “Get your filthy hands off me!” he snarled, shaking his shoe like I had dirtied it. Then he dusted it in a show of disgust, flicking tiny crumbs away with theatrical revulsion.

“Disgusting,” he spat. The word was a verdict.

The world narrowed and it was as if my hearing muted at the edges. I heard the distant hum — someone’s laughter, the clink of a glass but I guess those noises belonged to another place. My vision tunneled and I could feel my pulse pounding against my temples. My fingers tingled as I tried to stand, and the floor tilted.

“Please…” I whispered to anyone who could hear but my voice left me like smoke.

They moved like a pack leaving the scene of a hunt. Tony clapped once which felt like a signal, and the small group cheered, like they were already eager to go to the next party he’d arranged. I think that his cruelty had served its purpose and then the show continued for him.

The crowd thinned out quickly as I particularly noticed Sophia swept past me, smirking, as if victorious. Tony rose, straightened his cufflinks, and called out in that bored, satisfied voice, “Okay, I’m getting bored. Who wants to go to the next party?”

They answered like trained seals. “Me! Yeah!”

They moved toward the door in a ripple of laughter, leaving the room smelling of smoke and arrogance. In that instant, my body finally protested with the kind of honesty words could not reach as my chest tightened further, and my breath hitched into a thin and ragged gasp. My knees gave slightly beneath me and I slumped back, sliding against the sofa base.

For a few seconds the villa was a blurry imagination as my fingers found the carpet and dug in, seeking comfort or anything. 

Then, faintly, a voice cut through clearly, “Melissa.” It was close and steady. At first I thought my mind was inventing it out of need. Then the voice came again, softer and urgent, “Hey… Melissa.”

It was a small sound, not loud enough to fill the room, but it hit me straight in the ribs. Someone was moving toward me and my heart tried to respond in a weak and hopeful thud.

My eyes moved, trying to focus on the approaching figure.

“Hey… Melissa,” the voice repeated, closer now, and it sounded like rescue.

But before I could say anything, the pancake reaction must have taken the better side of me and then I passed out.