The drifters laughed, baring yellow teeth.

“Please. Who'd want to harass you? With a face like that.”

“We're more worried you'll come after us!”

I gripped my phone tighter, nausea rolling up from my stomach in waves.

Brent turned to face me. He was smiling, but his eyes held nothing but cold.

“So what exactly are you going to tell the police? That I made you rough it for a night? Or that you're imagining things?”

I had no evidence.

The drifters closed in slowly. They didn't touch me. They just stood there.

But they were close enough that my back was already flat against the wall.

“Stay away from me.”

“We're not going anywhere,” the bald one said, mouth splitting into a grin. “Room's only so big. Where would we go?”

A skinny one crouched by my feet, looked up at me, and made a show of sniffing the air.

“You smell real nice, sweetheart. What perfume is that?”

I shifted a step sideways. He followed.

“Don't run off. We're not gonna do anything. Just talking.”

“Your husband's right outside the door. What could we possibly do?”

The bald one flashed his teeth again, eyes sliding over me with open malice.

“You know what your husband said to us out there?”

“He said——”

The skinny one dropped his voice, mimicking Brent's tone. “‘She needs to be taught a lesson. Don't hold back. Make sure she remembers it.’”

“He also said,” the bald one chimed in, “that you're too strong-headed out there, never leave him any face. And yesterday you went and bullied his poor fragile little secretary. Way too much.”

“That's why he hired us,”

the scarred one said with a grin. “To set his wife straight.”

I bit down on my lip until I tasted iron. I didn't make a sound.

I didn't know if they were making it up.

Or if every word was true.

But they seemed to find my silence entertaining, watching me now with real interest.

“Your husband's pretty generous, though,”

the skinny one said. “Paying us to hang around here a full day and night. Wasn't cheap.”

The bald one played along. “How much did he give you?”

The skinny one grinned and held up two fingers.

“Twenty thousand?”

“Each.”

The bald one let out a low whistle. “We hit the jackpot.”

Sixty thousand. Three strange men locked in a room with his wife for a day and a night.

Because I'd spent my own money on a hotel room. A thousand a night. And wouldn't hand it over to his precious secretary.

So he spent all that just to trap me here. Just for revenge.

I finished the math in my head, and then I laughed.

Brent Sanchez, how generous of you.

I stared at him in the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, arms crossed.

Watching like it was a show that had nothing to do with him.

“Brent,”

I said. “You really want to go through with this?”

He didn't even look up. His phone had buzzed twice, and he was already hunched over it, thumbs flying.

I didn't have to guess who it was.

Marian.

Every text I ever sent him got back either a 「1」 or dead silence. If something was actually urgent, maybe he'd reply two hours later.

But Marian, his precious little secretary, got instant replies. Every single time.

Even on a business trip meant for just the two of us, he'd let Marian tag along without a second thought.

The thought made me laugh at myself.

“Marian didn't want to stay at the hostel last night. She ran off and slept on the street. That's her own stupidity.”

“If you're holding a grudge because I refused to switch rooms with her,”

“shouldn't you be holding an even bigger one against yourself?”

“We followed you on a business trip, and you were too cheap to spring for a real hotel. You stuck us in a hostel.”

“Brent, why don't you lock yourself in there too? See how it feels firsthand.”

Brent's patience snapped. He lifted his head and gave me a single cold look.

“That mouth of yours never stops. You could spin anything to suit yourself.”

“You look down on Marian for staying at a hostel, but where do you get off booking a thousand-dollar-a-night hotel? That's Sanchez family money you're burning through.”

I was so angry I laughed.

How did Brent Sanchez have the nerve to say something like that?

“Brent, since the day we got married, I haven't spent a single cent of yours. If you don't believe me, go check the household accounts yourself……”

“I don't need to check.”

Brent cut me off with a cold laugh.

“Georgina, that mouth of yours could twist anything.”

“Quit playing the victim out here. No matter what, today you're going to pay for what you did.”

I honestly couldn't figure out what I'd done wrong.

“All this because I didn't switch rooms for your little secretary last night?”

“Brent, did you get kicked in the head? If you're so considerate, why didn't you give her yours?”

“I told you I have trouble sleeping. I can't sleep in a hostel, so I paid out of my own pocket for a hotel room.”

“Is that a problem?”

Brent kept sneering at me.

“Oh, you're too delicate for a hostel? Everyone else managed just fine. It's company policy.”

“What makes you the exception?”

He frowned, eyes cold. “Georgina, when you act like this, people say I'm spoiling you. Using my position to play favorites.”

“What I did was to avoid that exact talk.”

“Besides, everyone already sees you as the future Mrs. Sanchez. If word gets out that you bully a junior secretary, that's bad for the company and bad for both of us.”

I drew a deep breath.

“Brent, let me out. Now.”

“Otherwise, you will regret this……”

Brent scoffed, looking me up and down with open contempt.

“Make me regret it? Who do you think you are?”

“Georgina, you rode my connections to climb your way up in this company. Now you actually think you're some untouchable career woman?”

“Without me, you're nothing.”

Every word landed like a needle straight into my chest.

Turns out when someone renders you completely speechless, you really do laugh out loud.

“Brent, did you feed your conscience to the dogs before you said that?”

“I spent three years in the Legal Department. Three years, from associate all the way to Chief Legal Officer.”

“Every case I handled, every contract, every dispute is on file. What exactly did you do for me?”

“Did you ever put in a word? Pull a string? Or even once, when I was working until dawn, come pick me up?”

That stopped him. For a second, Brent had nothing to say.

Every time I got off work late, he was busy elsewhere. Either entertaining clients, or off with his little secretary, Marian Cox.

She was always running a fever, or her cat was in heat, or her pipes had burst.

There was always some reason she needed to bother Brent.

And he never once turned her down.

It was always just a small thing, he figured. Easy enough to help.

All these years, I'd told myself to pick my battles. I never really took it to heart.

But this time was different.

To avenge some petty grudge for Marian, Brent had locked me inside that hostel. He'd crossed a line I would never forgive.

“Georgina, don't you dare change the subject!”

“You're independent, you don't need anyone picking you up after work. But that doesn't mean every other girl is like you……”

“Marian slept under a bridge last night. Have you even thought about how dangerous that was for her?”

“All I'm asking is for you to switch rooms. You're my wife. The card I gave you has no limit. Just book another room. Is that really so hard?”

The hallway was quiet.

The hostel's old wooden door let out a faint creak.

I laughed out loud.

“Why should I?”

I lifted my head slowly, my eyes perfectly calm.

“Why should I spend our money—our shared marital property—to book a room for Marian Cox? She's nothing to me.”

“And you say it so casually. 'The card I gave you.' Where is it? Did I ever take it?”

Brent's face turned ugly.

“You said people would accuse you of using your position for personal gain. That they'd say I was bullying some junior secretary. That it would hurt the company's reputation.”

“But locking me in this dump and surrounding me with strange men. That gets out, and it won't hurt the reputation?”

Brent's face cycled between white and grey, irritation bleeding through his voice.

“I can't out-argue you.”

“Georgina, today I just wanted to use this to disgust you.”

“Be grateful nothing happened to Marian that night. Otherwise, today wouldn't be as simple as paying some bums to scare you.”

“I won't let them touch you. But tonight, you stay here.”

“Until dawn.”

“You don't go anywhere.”

He turned and left without a second's hesitation.

“Brent Sanchez, don't you walk away!”

I moved to follow, but the bald one stepped into my path.

“Money taken, job to do. Twenty grand's twenty grand. You leave, and we don't get paid.”

The smell hit me first: stale cigarettes and sweat, like something rotting out of mildewed clothes.

“Hey, relax, pretty lady,”

the skinny one said with a grin. “We're just regular folks. What are we gonna do to you?”

“Your husband's just looking out for you. Letting you get a taste of real life.”

The one with the scar rubbed his hands together, a filthy grin on his face.

“Look at the fabric on that outfit. One touch and I'd owe half a year's wages, huh?”

“Don't worry, we wouldn't dare lay a finger on you. Just keeping you company, chatting all night long……”

As he spoke, his tongue dragged across his lips, and his hand shot toward my chest. My foot caught him first.

A crack—like bone snapping—and then his scream.

“Holy shit, she knows how to fight!”

“Why the hell didn't that guy warn us?”

I swept my gaze over them, cold. “Who's next?”

They looked at each other. No one moved. Not one of them dared step forward again.

“You're doing Brent Sanchez's dirty work for twenty thousand dollars. Selling your lives that cheap. You're idiots.”

The bald one's grin shrank.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

I looked at them, one by one, ice in every glance.

“Do you know who I am?”

Silence.

“Brent Sanchez is my husband. Whatever's between us is between us. He dragged you into it.”

“You really think this counts as helping?”

“Right now you're standing here, circling me. Under criminal law, that's group sexual assault.”

“That signal jammer killed my phone. That bumps unlawful detention up to an aggravated charge.”

“Brent Sanchez is the mastermind. Every one of you is an accomplice.”

The scarred one pulled his hand back.