5. Trap

This is the fate of a subordinate. While senior staff relax and draw a salary for doing nothing, I am the one stuck doing all their work. Morning hasn't even turned into afternoon, yet tasks are already piling up on my shoulders. This time, I’ve even been turned into a courier—the difference being that real couriers get paid, while I do not.

I had to deliver important documents to Mr. Marcus, my Area Manager, who was supposedly in a meeting at Marketing Division Office Two. The building is located next door and is much quieter. It was exhausting to go down from the fifth floor and walk a considerable distance just to go up to the fourth floor in the opposite building. However, once I arrived, he wasn't there.

“Mr. Marcus isn't here. He’s at the east warehouse checking inventory,” snapped a man claiming to be Mr. Marcus’s assistant. “He said those documents must be brought there immediately!”

I had no choice. Like it or not, I had to hand them over before Vanesha found a new reason to nag. The east warehouse is located at the very back of the office complex. The further I walked, the quieter it became. Only stacks of wooden crates and the scent of dust greeted me.

"Mr. Marcus?" I called out as I entered the dimly lit warehouse.

Footsteps echoed from behind a large shelf, and Mr. Marcus appeared. He didn't look like someone busy checking stock. Instead, he was taking off his blazer and staring at me with a glint in his eyes that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Ah, Daisy. You’re finally here," he said, walking slowly toward me. He intentionally slid the iron warehouse door shut. Click.

My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. A bad premonition crawled up my neck as I realized just how silent this warehouse was. What did this man actually want? I tried to suppress my fear and remain professional.

“These are the documents from Vanesha, Sir. She said I should hand them to you personally,” I said, holding out the folder.

“Oh, right. Sorry to trouble you by making you come all the way here,” he replied calmly, accepting the folder with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“It’s no problem, Sir. If that’s all, I’ll take my leave,” I replied quickly, trying to turn back and exit this danger zone immediately.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Marcus moved fast to block my path. “I heard Bianca gave you a hard time this morning? I’m sorry to hear that. It’s such a pity a girl as beautiful as you has to be accused of being a thief.”

“It was just a misunderstanding, Sir. Excuse me, I still have a lot of work to do,” I replied shortly, trying to avoid him again.

“Wait, Daisy!” Marcus grabbed my arm. His grip was incredibly tight, as if his fingers were iron shackles with no intention of letting me go.

“I’m sorry, Sir, please let go of my arm!” I pleaded, my voice rising.

Instead, Marcus stepped forward, closing the distance until I could feel his breath. The sharp scent of his perfume felt suffocating now.

"Listen, Daisy," he whispered lowly. "You’re a smart girl, but your position in this office is very fragile. You’re poor, you need money, and you’re always bullied, aren't you? Become my 'mistress,' and I guarantee your life will be easy. You won’t have to work overtime anymore, and I’ll protect you from anyone."

My blood boiled. My fear evaporated instantly, replaced by sheer loathing.

"You think because I’m poor, you can buy me?!" I barked while struggling. "I am a respectable woman, so let go of your filthy hands!"

"So arrogant! But I do like women who are hard to conquer," Marcus hissed, his face twisting into a disgusting, lecherous smirk. "There’s no one here, Daisy. Let's have a little fun!"

His hands began to grope my shoulders roughly. Without thinking, I jerked my free hand and slapped him across the face with all my might.

SLAP!

The slap echoed through the empty warehouse. Marcus staggered, clutching his reddened cheek, while his eyes now flashed with a dark, burning rage.

"You dare! I'm going to make you mine right now!" Marcus groaned like a wild beast. Rage made his face even more terrifying.

With one jerk, he grabbed both my wrists and pinned them above my head. He shoved me until my back slammed hard against a metal shelf. Pain shot up my spine, making me gasp.

"Let me go! Help!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, but my voice seemed swallowed by the vast, silent warehouse.

"Keep screaming, Daisy! No one will hear you here!" Marcus sneered, his face—still red from my slap—now forced its way closer.

I squeezed my eyes shut, struggling with what little strength I had left. But just as I felt my hope fading, a thud far louder than my slap shook the entire warehouse.

CRASH!