CHAPTER 4

When I opened the door to Room 1005, I almost thought I had walked into a club. 

The entire room was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the dim glow of chandeliers—an elegant attempt to heighten the atmosphere. And, of course, people were flirting everywhere.

I thought my entrance would go unnoticed, but a figure suddenly stepped in front of me.

“Madam,” a low voice said.

I looked up. He was tall and muscular, built like a giant. I knew him. He was Vercel's right-hand man and bodyguard.

“Rowan,” I greeted. “Where’s Vercel?”

Rowan didn’t answer immediately. After a brief pause, he said, “Please follow me.”

We walked quietly, taking a path where no one paid attention to us. The guests were too busy with their own affairs to notice anything else.

We stopped at a corner where only a few people were gathered. Every face there was familiar. I saw them sitting in this same corner every year.

“Oh? Look who’s here,” a woman’s voice drawled. “Isn’t that your wife, Vercel?”

The first to notice me was Vercel’s first love—Antonette Madonna. She was sitting beside him, clinging to his arm.

At her words, almost everyone turned to look at me. Under the dim lighting, I couldn’t clearly see their expressions, but I knew them well enough. They were either filled with disdain or marked by indifference—just like always.

“I thought she wouldn’t show up to this banquet.”

“You really spoiled your wife, Vercel. Look at her—she only appears when the banquet you prepared for her is about to end.”

“She’s only been married for three years, yet she already doesn’t know her place. She’s even more arrogant than us now.”

Most of the comments came from the women the men had brought along. 

Well—what was new? It was always women who dragged other women down. I didn’t bother looking at them. My gaze rested solely on Vercel, who was already looking at me.

He wore only a white shirt, the top buttons undone, exposing his chest—exactly where Antonette’s hand rested. 

He lounged on the sofa with one arm draped over its back, as though seated on a throne. One hand held a cigar, the other a glass of liquor.

His calm gaze settled on my expressionless face. He didn’t stop the chatter around him, as if the subject of their ridicule wasn’t his wife. There was nothing new about that. 

Before, he had at least pretended to be a loving husband. I didn’t know when it changed—but at some point, he stopped protecting me from the mockery of his circle altogether.

When the silent countdown in my mind reached five minutes, I spoke first.

“If there’s nothing else, I’m leaving now.”

The chatter ceased instantly. The corner fell into silence, as though time itself had paused.

I waited a few seconds. When he still didn’t respond, I turned around, ready to leave—until Vercel finally spoke.

“Stop.”

“Sky Mercedes,” he said sharply. “I said, stop.”

Irritated, I turned back to him. “What now—”

I was caught off guard when a hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward him. Instinctively, I shoved him away and slapped him.

I staggered back a few steps, one hand flying to my nose.

“Vercel Salvatore,” I said coldly, “I’ve told you before. Don’t touch me after touching others. It’s disgusting.”

The disgust and irritation in my voice were unmistakable. I knew everyone could hear.

Vercel chuckled softly. He turned his head back toward me, his face still angled from the slap.

“Are you angry, Sky?” he asked, his eyes gleaming oddly. “You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”

“So what?” I hissed.

But he suddenly burst into laughter. “I knew it. I knew you still love me!”

“Are you insane?” I snapped. “If you are, admit yourself to an asylum. I’m leaving!”

“No,” he said calmly. “You still haven’t drunk our wedding wine.”

He snapped his fingers. Rowan stepped forward, holding a tray with a wine glass.

Wedding wine.

I didn’t know what was wrong with Vercel, but ever since our first anniversary banquet, he had insisted on this so-called tradition. And this wedding wine—it was always drugged.

The glass in front of me now was no exception.

Seeing the smile on Vercel’s face, paired with the coldness in his eyes, I no longer had the energy to argue. I took the glass and drank it in one go.

“There,” I said hoarsely. “Now I can go, right—”

I stopped mid-sentence.

Uncontrollable heat spread through my body almost instantly. I gritted my teeth and glared at him.

“Damn you, Vercel,” I spat. “How much drug did you put in this wine this time?”

He looked genuinely confused. “What drug—Sky, wait—”

I didn’t bother listening.

I shattered the wine glass and, gripping the sharp edge, stabbed it into my arm.

“Sky!” Vercel looked shocked, visibly shaken.

I didn’t believe his act. When he stepped forward, I retreated.

Eyes burning with disappointment, I said, “Do you think you can have me just because you drugged me? Even if you force me, nothing will change—except that I’ll hate you even more. I’ll only regret saving you when we were children. I’ll only wish I had never met you.”

“No, Sky—”

“And love?” I laughed bitterly. “Vercel, stop being greedy. You know my condition. The moment you let others touch you, whatever love you want from me turns into disgust. You shouldn’t have proposed to me in the first place. If you have even a shred of conscience left, divorce me.”

After pouring out everything I had kept buried inside, I took several steps back. 

Once I was sure the distance was safe, I turned and hurried away, desperate to find somewhere secure to endure this episode.

But this time, the drug was terrifyingly strong—as if Vercel wanted me to die from the aphrodisiac.

My body burned. Already weak, it deteriorated rapidly. Clinging to sheer willpower and fading clarity, I forced myself toward the restroom. 

I remembered there was a bidet spray in the cubicle I had used earlier.

I ground my teeth, pressing the glass shard deeper into my arm as I walked. I heard an elevator ding and doors opening nearby, but I didn’t look back.

I entered the restroom and locked the main door, then checked every cubicle. Relief washed over me when I found no one inside.

I rushed to the cubicle I had used earlier, locked it, grabbed the bidet spray, and turned it on, letting the cold water soak my body.

When it still wasn’t enough, I cursed myself for being careless.

With trembling hands, I rummaged through my bag, found my phone, and dialed the emergency number. 

Please. Please. Please.

When the call connected, I let out a shaky sigh of relief and spoke quickly before I could lose consciousness.

“Hello…” My voice was weak. “Please help me. I’ve been drugged. The aphrodisiac is very strong, and I think I might faint at any moment. I’m at Whisper Hotel, 10th floor, female restroom.”

My voice faded as my vision blurred. “Please… help me. Don’t let anyone touch me.”

“Okay.”

A male voice. Perhaps the officer on duty today was a man.

That single word was enough.

Relief washed over me—and then my consciousness went black.