Retribution in Bloom

In an illegal clinic, my six-year-old son was trembling.

Tears streamed down his face as he cried out helplessly for his mother, pleading with those vile men to let him go, telling them I was waiting for him at home.

Despite his pleas, these merciless beasts dragged him to the operating table, denying him even the mercy of anesthesia.

Clutching my phone in horror, I watched the video sent by a kind-hearted stranger, my heart breaking with every frame as I cried my heart out.

As an orphan turned single mother, I had faced my own horrors.

At eighteen, working in a club, I was assaulted by a guest in one of the VIP rooms.

I failed to identify his face.

Eight months later, my son was born. He would curl up in my arms and, in his tiny voice, promise, "Mommy, don't be scared. When I grow up, I'll protect you!"

He was my world.

But my heart was consumed by hatred for Michele Finnen.

To exact my revenge, I targeted her husband, Scott Langley.

Michele, ever the hopeless romantic, chased endlessly after him, investing too much in their relationship.

But Scott's heart belonged to another, his first and undying love. Despite Michele's efforts, she stood no chance.

Then, one fateful day, tragedy struck. The woman Scott loved was involved in a horrific car accident.

The aftermath was devastating.

Scott, his eyes bloodshot, retreated into a deep, engulfing silence, terrifying everyone with his grief.

For two weeks after the accident, he retreated into a abyss that swallowed him whole.

When he finally emerged, he was a broken man, succumbing to his family's wishes to marry Michele.

But what kind of love could possibly grow from such a union?

I recognized a golden opportunity and knew I had to seize it, especially given my striking resemblance to Scott's first love.

I joined the Langley Group as his secretary, and one evening, I was called to pick him up from Club Kyo after he had indulged too much in drink.

Standing at the entrance of the club, I hesitated, my brows furrowed.

This was the very place where, six years earlier, I had been harassed while working part-time—a place where both my darkest and most pivotal moments began.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

There, in a private room, was Scott, slumped on a sofa, legs splayed with one hand shielding his eyes. It was clear he had had too much to drink.

At the sound of my footsteps, he lowered his hand, and his gaze met mine with an unreadable expression.

His features were youthful and handsome, his deep-set eyes more striking under the influence of alcohol, rendering him unexpectedly captivating.

Silently, I moved closer and slipped my arm under his to help him up.

As we made our way into the hallway, we encountered the club's manager.

His eyes widened at the sight of Scott, then shifted to me, his expression turning to one of surprise. For a moment, his lips parted as if to speak, but no words emerged.

…

We reached Scott's bedroom, and I gently guided him onto the bed before leaning over to reach for his necktie.

"Mr. Langley…" I murmured in a tender, coaxing voice. "Let me loosen your tie so you'll feel more comfortable."

My fingertips gently brushed over his Adam's apple in a teasing manner, and I sensed his body tense under my touch.

His gaze lifted to meet mine. From this angle, he had a perfect view of my neckline, which I deliberately lowered just enough to offer a glimpse of my fair skin and soft breasts.

His breathing quickened, his gaze intensifying as he looked at me.

I pretended not to notice and leaned in closer, our bodies pressing together.

My palm rested gently on his forehead as I purred, "What's wrong, Mr. Langley? You don't seem well. Did you drink too much? Are you feeling unwell?"

Our bodies were pressed together now, and I could feel the warmth of his skin growing hotter with each passing moment.

Suddenly, he let his fingers slip under my shirt, roughly kneading my breasts.

His voice was a hoarse murmur, "Yunice…"

His first love.

I couldn't suppress an inward smirk. My time to play the part had arrived.

"Mr. Langley, please don't," I murmured, feigning resistance while my hands lightly pressed against his chest as if pushing him away.

My voice seemed to momentarily clear the haze of intoxication, and Scott hesitated, a flicker of awareness crossing his face.

But before anything more could happen, the unmistakable sound of heels clicking sharply against the floor echoed.

Michele was coming our way.