The next day around noon, I was on the phone with my mother's hospital wing when the sharp click of heels echoed through the foyer, mixed with George's low, easy laugh.

"Georgie, I brought you lunch," Sarah's syrupy-sweet voice chirped.

My grip on the phone tightened. He never laughed like that with me—so freely, so sweetly, like it was dipped in honey.

And he never allowed me to call him "Georgie." He said it was too intimate.

He was walking beside her, deliberately slowing his long stride to match her shorter one.

She tilted her head, said something playful.

He leaned in close, turning his face toward hers, listening with a soft smile playing on his lips.

The sight was a physical ache. He had never been that way with me. With me, he was always just George—distant, untouchable, someone I was constantly straining to reach.

The difference between being loved and being tolerated was painfully obvious.

"Oh, Catelyn, you're here too," Sarah said, her smile saccharine.

I forced a stiff smile in return. "Sarah."

She pulled an elegant box from her bag and held it out. "I heard George asked you to get close to Jordan. I picked out something special for you. "I know his type better than anyone. He'll definitely like this."

I opened the box. Inside was a set of black lace lingerie, so flimsy and revealing it was practically indecent.

It sat heavy in my hands, a wave of humiliation washing over me. Even George's expression darkened, a faint frown creasing his brow.

I thought maybe it was her words—"I know his type better than anyone"—that had annoyed him.

No man likes to hear another guy's preferences described so casually by the woman he loves.

My throat felt raw. "Thank you," I managed to force out.

But Sarah wasn't done. She curled her hand possessively around George's arm and cooed, "Catelyn, why don't you go try it on now? Let us see how it looks."

She smiled, all wide-eyed innocence. "That way I can give you some pointers. We want to make sure nothing goes wrong."

I stood frozen, clutching the box until my fingertips turned white.

George said nothing—his silence was a form of permission.

In the dressing room, the mirror reflected a stranger. The black lace barely contained my chest, the straps were whisper-thin, and the cutouts along the waist revealed the dark bruises his fingers had left there the night before.

Steeling myself, I pulled the door open—and walked straight into a room full of eyes.

The living room was packed. At least a dozen men and women, all the elite children of powerful families, were lounging around.

Their stares hit me—a mix of admiration, mockery, disdain, and raw hunger.

Sarah widened her eyes in feigned surprise, putting a hand to her mouth. "Oh my gosh, Catelyn, I am so sorry. It's my birthday tonight and my friends just insisted on coming over early. I had no idea you'd come out dressed like that. This is so awkward."

Her voice oozed fake apology, but her eyes sparkled with triumph.

My face burned. Instinctively, I tried to retreat back into the room.

But Sarah caught my wrist, pulling me forward into the full view of everyone. "Don't be shy. Let everyone see George's exquisite taste."

The room erupted in laughter. Someone wolf-whistled. Phone cameras were lifted, flashes popping.

"Damn, George, so this is the little minx you've been hiding? She's a stunner!"

"Tsk, that body, that skin… puts all those models to shame."

"I heard she used to be a wealthy socialite. Looks like she'll stoop to anything for money now."

The filth rained down on me, wave after wave.

"Didn't Catelyn use to study dance?" a guy with bleached-blond hair jeered. "How about a little performance for us?"

"Yeah, a striptease!" others catcalled, howling with laughter.

I swallowed back the tears and looked straight at George.

He was lounging against the sofa, with Sarah tucked contentedly under his arm and laughing heartily.

But his eyes were dark, his lips pressed into a thin line. The lighter in his hand clicked open and shut, trembling just slightly—the only sign that something was churning beneath the surface.

But he said nothing.

And in that silence, my heart plunged, sinking deeper and deeper into a cold, dark abyss.

Just then, my gaze snagged on a figure in the crowd.

Jordan sat at the far edge of the room, dressed in a simple white shirt. His posture was aloof, refined, his brow furrowed tightly.

A thought, sudden and reckless, took hold.

If I was supposed to seduce him, why not start now?

I steadied my breathing, forcing my voice into something calm. "Alright. I'll dance. But I'll need a partner."

Every eye followed the line of my pointed finger, landing on the man in the corner. "Him."

With a sharp clink, George's lighter hit the floor. His gaze snapped to me, dark and venomous.

Even Jordan seemed startled, caught completely off guard.

Before anyone could react, I stepped forward barefoot, walking toward Jordan with a deliberate, practiced poise. His ears flushed red, yet he didn't pull away as I took his hand and led him to the center of the room.

The brushed fabric of his trousers grazed my bare leg—a touch like a feather that ignited a spark deep within me.

The music swelled.

George shot to his feet.

I leaned close to Jordan's neck and let out a soft, conspiratorial laugh. From the corner of my eye, I saw George’s fists clench, his knuckles turning white.

Sarah tilted her face up to speak to him, but his eyes were locked on me, something violent churning in their depths.

And just as I tried to catch that flicker of emotion, he turned away… and pressed a kiss to Sarah’s forehead.

I let my fingers trail across Jordan's chest, casual yet deliberate, my body molding against his. I felt his stiffness and the uneven drag of his breath.

The room erupted in cheers and whistles.

George’s face grew darker, his gaze searing, like a fire ready to consume everything.

Then, just as I spun in Jordan's arms, about to fall back against him—

The music cut off.

George stormed forward, yanking me violently from Jordan's hold. He ripped off his own jacket and wrapped it around me, roughly covering the skin that had been on display.

"Enough!" he snarled, his voice vibrating with a fury he could barely contain.

Something fragile fluttered in my chest. Was he… jealous? Did he actually care?

But then I saw Sarah’s red-rimmed eyes, her face a mask of wounded grievance.

The answer was clear.

It wasn’t me he cared about.

It was his perfect Sarah. He couldn't bear to see her hurt.

Of course—right in front of her, I had danced with her ex-lover in a blatant, intimate display. How could she not be wounded?

George swept a cold, commanding glance across the room.

"Out. All of you."

The room cleared instantly. Sarah lingered, her lips parting to speak, but one look from him silenced her. She shot me a venomous glare, stomped her heel, and stormed out.

In the blink of an eye, the vast living room held only us.

George’s hand clamped around my wrist, dragging me mercilessly toward the bedroom.

My back slammed against the wardrobe. His fingers gripped my chin, his breath hot and ragged against my face. "Did you enjoy yourself? Dancing for him?"

"Catelyn," his voice was a low, dangerous threat, "you dare seduce another man right in front of me?"

I pushed against his chest, struggling. "Weren't you the one who told me to seduce him? I'm just getting a head start on my assignment."

His eyes flashed with pure darkness. In the next instant, he threw me onto the bed, his body looming over mine.

With a vicious rip, the flimsy lace tore apart.

The sound of shredding fabric filled the air as I stared blankly at the chandelier above, my mind flashing back to being seventeen, dancing under a single spotlight in the school auditorium. Back then, too, there had been eyes like his, burning with an intensity hot enough to set the whole spring on fire.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, his gaze dripping with scorn. "You're nothing but something I bought. Whatever I tell you to do—you do. When I say stop—you stop. You don't have the right to refuse."

Each word was a vise around my heart, squeezing tighter.

Yes. I was just a purchased stand-in. What right did I have to resist?

George said no more. He took me with a punishing fury, every movement laced with retribution.

And I just lay there, still and silent, staring up at the ceiling as tears slipped soundlessly down my temples and into my hair.

When he finally noticed my absolute stillness, he froze. His forehead pressed into the crook of my neck.

And then, I felt hot droplets on my skin.

His voice trembled, hoarse with apology.

"I'm sorry, Catelyn. I lost my temper… I just—"

George didn't finish his sentence. His hand lifted, reaching to smooth my hair.

I turned my head away. His hand froze in midair, his gaze lingering on me for a long time.

Then he rolled off the bed, his back to me, voice hoarse. "Go."

I struggled to my feet, grabbed whatever clothes I could find from the wardrobe, and slipped them on.

At the door, I turned once to look back. His head was bowed, fingers flying across his phone as if sending a message.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. Without another glance, I walked away.

Outside, the midnight streets were deserted, fine rain drifting down like threads of ice.

I didn't bother with an umbrella, letting the cold water soak me through.

I had no idea how long I walked before stopping, sensing the presence trailing behind me. Turning, I saw Jordan standing a short distance away, his figure stretched long and solitary under the streetlamp.

"Why are you following me?" My voice was hoarse.

He shifted awkwardly, words caught on his tongue. The aloof, untouchable man everyone knew was, in truth, a shy boy.

Finally, he came forward, slipped off his jacket, and draped it gently around my shoulders.

"I was worried about you," he murmured, blushing.

Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a video message from Sarah.

I opened it and my pupils shrank sharply.

On screen, George and Sarah were undressed, tangled in bed. Sarah faced the camera, smiling with triumph and mockery. Beside her, George's profile appeared—his fingers tracing the beauty mark at the corner of her eye, his expression steeped in intoxicated pleasure.

My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white.

So, the moment George threw me out… they couldn't wait to—

My heart split into a thousand jagged pieces.

Lifting my head, I met Jordan's gaze. "Jordan, do you want to sleep with me?"

He froze, stunned.

I didn't give him time to react. Grabbing his hand, I dragged him toward the nearest hotel.

In the elevator, he finally found his voice. "Catelyn, you don't have to do this—"

"What? Do I disgust you?" My laugh was sharp and cold. "Don't worry. George's a clean freak. He makes me get checked regularly."

His brows furrowed deeper. "That's not what I mean."

Inside the room, I began unbuttoning my shirt.

Jordan caught my wrist—lightly, but with unyielding strength. "Stop."

I looked up at him, only to see the tips of his ears burning red.

"You've never done this before, have you?" I asked.

He turned his face away, a faint sound escaping his throat. "Mm."

I blinked, surprised. After all, he was Sarah's ex-boyfriend.

A slow smile curved my lips. Looping my arms around his neck, I guided him using my fingertips as they traced across his skin.

The air thickened with heat, spiraling into reckless abandon.

By morning, I woke groggy with exhaustion and a lingering ache. The space beside me was empty. Jordan was gone.

The room still smelled faintly of last night's passion.

I picked up my phone, found the video I'd secretly recorded, and sent it to George.

After that, a single message followed: [Seduction complete.]

Then I tossed the phone aside, closed my eyes, and tried to sleep again.

But it wasn't long before the door crashed open.

George stormed in, fury radiating off him. Sarah trailed behind him with a smirk of malicious satisfaction.

His gaze fell on me—disheveled, my body covered in the marks of another man.

In an instant, his eyes turned blood-red.