The night breeze in Qingcheng was warm, the kind that made the summer heat a little more bearable.

Clara Jupp’s head was pounding like a drum, and she knew she must’ve drunk way too much. Everything in front of her looked hazy and doubled, like the world wouldn’t stay still no matter how hard she squinted.

“Hey, Clara, don’t rush, I’m walking you back.” A deep male voice came from behind her, mixed in with the sound of passing traffic. A strong hand suddenly grabbed her arm.

She instantly stiffened. She hated being touched, especially by someone she barely knew. She tried to pull away, twisting her body, but the man only held on tighter and got even more inappropriate, pressing up against her back with a gross familiarity. His hot breath brushed against her ear as he leaned in—

“You’re drunk, Clara. It’s not safe for you to be out alone. Let me take you back.”

Clara’s gut twisted with disgust. She wanted to break free from this creep, but her body felt like jelly. All strength had abandoned her.

After Evan Donovan helped her into the car, she slumped into the seat, and the plush comfort instantly dragged her into unconsciousness.

Next to her, Evan smirked, a twisted gleam flashing in his eyes.

...

So thirsty. Her throat felt scorched, every breath dry and uncomfortable. Clara felt like she was burning from the inside out. Her whole body radiated heat, her head throbbing like it was splitting in two.

She forced her eyes open. Everything was spinning. Blurry images of an unfamiliar room, strange ceiling, weird decor. Nothing looked right.

But then, she spotted something — a man’s tailored suit tossed over the bed. It looked both familiar and out of place.

Right. Evan Donovan’s suit. The guy she had dinner with earlier.

But… why was it on this bed?

From the nearby bathroom, the sound of running water echoed out — and along with it, a man humming a cheerful tune.

The voice made her skin crawl.

That was Evan.

Clara’s dazed brain threw together his picture: tall, intense features, nothing soft about him. He was the so-called second son of the Donovan family, the playboy CEO of their company. She hadn’t known him well, but now every warning bell in her head was blaring.

Dinner. Too much alcohol. A strange hotel room. Him in the shower.

Her blood froze.

No way—she had to get out of here.

She carefully moved her legs, trying to get up. But the moment her feet touched the floor, they gave in, completely useless.

With a loud thud, she collapsed onto the ground.

The water in the bathroom stopped abruptly.

Clara’s heart leapt to her throat. Evan definitely heard that.

She frantically looked around for her phone — nothing. Her only option now was to somehow crawl out before he came out.

Using her arms for support, she started dragging herself along the floor.

“Miss Jupp.” His voice came from behind.

She didn’t even need to turn around to know — Evan was standing there, a towel wrapped low on his waist, wet hair dripping, a slimy grin stretching across his face as he stared straight at her legs under the short dress.“Mr. Donovan.” Clara Jupp turned her head slightly. Even though she was still on the floor, she straightened her back, trying to present herself with as much dignity as possible. “I think the alcohol's worn off. You really don’t need to trouble yourself. I’ll just call a cab.”

“You’re this drunk, and it’s the middle of the night. Going home alone? That’s not safe at all,” Evan Donovan replied, taking slow steps toward her.

“No, really, I’m fine.” Clara tried her best to sound calm, but her fingers trembled from the fear she was trying to hide.

Evan closed the distance between them, then suddenly crouched down and scooped her into his arms without warning.

Pressed against his chest, Clara felt pure disgust crawling over her skin.

He threw her onto the bed with force, his mouth curling into a sinister grin.

Panic surged through Clara. A deal like this was never going to be that simple—she should’ve known. Everyone in the industry knew Evan Donovan wasn’t just any rich heir. He was notorious—a spoiled bastard with no morals and a filthy mind.

He climbed onto the bed and hovered over her, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Clara Jupp? Hah, never thought I’d see you like this,” he sneered. “Still acting like you're above it all? In the end, you’re just another one for me to take. Isn’t that right?”

At that moment, Evan finally dropped every ounce of his fake charm, his true nature shining through without shame.

Clara struggled, trying to shove him off with everything she had. But compared to Evan, especially after drinking? She barely stood a chance.

His hand easily pinned down both of her wrists like they were nothing. He looked down at her, watching her fight, thrilled by her desperation.

“Evan Donovan, let me go! Do you even realize what you’re doing? Do you still believe there’s law in this world?” Clara shouted, voice hoarse with fear.

“Aw, Clara, are you scared?” Evan leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. His voice dropped into a cruel whisper, eyes locked on hers.

Her eyes welled with unshed tears, sparkling under the harsh light. But she wouldn’t cry—not now.

Of course she was scared. That kind of fear wasn’t new. It clawed its way back up from the depths of her memories, dragging that one nightmare she’d fought so long to bury.

She couldn’t go through that again. She just… couldn’t.

“Evan Donovan! Get your damn hands off me! If you lay one finger on me, I swear I’ll make you pay.”

Evan burst out laughing. “You? Make me pay? Still acting like you’ve got any power left?” His voice was mocking, almost amused. “Come on, Clara. Still think you’re the mighty Miss Jupp? This whole town belongs to me now. You? You’re nothing here.”

Then, out of nowhere, he bit down on her neck—her pale, delicate neck.

Clara squeezed her eyes shut, the pain slicing through her like a blade. Every awful memory she’d tried so hard to bury came crashing back. Evan's breath against her skin made her stomach turn.

He kept biting, hands yanking at her dress—the white one she’d chosen carefully for this dinner. Now it was ripped and wrinkled, ruined by his violence.

“Stop squirming, woman,” he growled near her ear again. “If you behave, I won’t hurt you. Much.”

Clara stared up at the ceiling, body trembling with despair and hurt.

“Evan Donovan, you beast. Let me go! Just let me go!” she cried out, voice cracking.

A loud slap answered her. His hand landed hard across her cheek.

Red fingerprints bloomed instantly on her face. It burned, and her mouth throbbed.

Evan didn’t even flinch. He watched her go still for a second, then went back to what he was doing without a second thought.