Everyone On This Train Is A Suspect

On my third day driving for a ride-hailing app, I picked up a female passenger who was completely wasted. Early the next morning, the police knocked on my door. At the station, the woman pointed straight at my face and screamed, "It was this driver! He raped me while I was drunk in the car. I’m still bleeding down there!" Her boyfriend lunged at me, trying to punch me, but the officers restrained him. People at the station started pulling out their phones to record, shouting insults like "scumbag" and "pervert" at me. An officer who wore a gloomy face asked, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" I calmly took off my baseball cap. I even thought about unbinding my chest. "Officer, there’s something I’m really curious about. I’m a woman. With what, exactly, would I have made her bleed?"

"N-No! F-Four is too much for me! I won't be able to handle them!" In a midnight bus ride, four of my husband's work colleagues have me pinned down on a seat. Soon, I feel my legs getting wrenched apart by force. The man standing before me takes off his belt before whipping it across my perky butt heavily. "Spread your legs! Women like you are meant to give us pleasure!" After that, he tears my soaked panties off my body.

On the bed in a train's compartment, I find myself getting pinned beneath my best friend's boyfriend, Gaston Walters. Our bodies are firmly glued to each other. I don't have any strength left in me, so I can only let Gaston do whatever he wants to me. Soon, I feel him turning me on. My husband, Stevie Murray's loud snores drift from the bunk bed above our heads. That's when Gaston slowly slides his hand beneath my blanket before hiking my nightgown upward. "Wow, you're so wet…"

It was just another morning commute—until he happened. Across the train aisle sat a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a high-end magazine and straight into a power struggle. His voice sliced through the air, sharp and commanding, as he chewed someone out over the phone like he ran the damn universe. Arrogant. Entitled. Dressed like a Wall Street god. Correction: he looked like a god. That’s where the charm ended—or so I thought. When the train screeched to a stop, he stood up in a hurry, stormed off… and left his phone behind. Did I pick it up? Yep. Did I snoop? Absolutely. Photos, contacts, a few mysterious texts—I couldn’t help myself. Did I keep it longer than I should’ve, building stories in my head about the man behind the voice? Yeah… I did that too. When I finally gathered enough nerve to return it, I marched into the glass-and-steel fortress he called an office. He wouldn’t even come out to meet me. So I dropped his phone on the desk outside his office door. And maybe—I left a photo on it first. Not exactly the professional kind. What I didn’t expect? A message. From him. What followed were late-night texts that burned hotter than anything I’d ever known. Words became whispers. Whispers turned into fantasies. I was falling—for someone I hadn’t even really met. He and I? Total opposites. Fire and ice. Chaos and control. But when we finally came face to face, it wasn’t just sparks. It was an inferno. What happened next? Let’s just say… falling for him was the easy part. Surviving what came after? That’s where the real story began.

"S-Stop… If you keep spreading my legs, I'll get hurt…" On the subway, three muscular guys spread my legs roughly while I try to stop them the best as I can. The man standing in front of me suddenly draws out his belt and ties my hands with it. "Stay put! Sluts like you are born to give us pleasure!" Then, he spreads my legs once again before ripping my soaked panties off my body.

At the express train station entrance, I was stopped by a security guard. He asked, “What is in the container?” I said, “It is a living heart. It needs to be transplanted in two hours.” I handed over the urgent medical pass. After the security guard checked the document and prepared to let me through, a hand reached from behind and grabbed the container. A voice shouted, “Do not let her go! The container contains prohibited items!” I turned and saw my sister‑in‑law, Ariana Cole. She pointed at me and shouted, “Sir, I am reporting her! She is my sister‑in‑law. What is in the container is not a cure for illness. It is drugs she bought from the black market. She plans to transport them and sell them by using her doctor identity!” Armed police surrounded us with their guns drawn. My eyes were bloodshot from anxiety. “Ariana, have you lost your mind? There is a donor heart inside! The recipient only has two hours to live!” Ariana rolled her eyes and sneered. “Why are you pretending? My brother said you have acted mysteriously lately. You are definitely up to no good. If you have nothing to hide, why not open it and show us?” The place fell silent. The SWAT officer leading the group spoke in a cold voice. He said, “Please cooperate with the inspection. Open the container immediately.” I looked at my countdown watch as cold sweat soaked my back. If the heart became contaminated, Arthur Quinn, the national hero who depended on it, would not survive.