The next day at noon, sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the French windows, like a dull knife.
Ethan Blackwood woke with a splitting headache. The hangover still lingered in his head, and his throat felt like it had swallowed sand. He reached for the water glass on the bedside table, but instead touched a stack of banknotes—the extra twelve thousand dollars he had thrown in the night before, still neatly stacked there.
She hadn't taken the extra money.
He sat up, rubbing his temples. Her scent still lingered in the room: cheap perfume mixed with tobacco and the dampness of the rain. The sheets were crumpled, and a long, shiny black hair lay on the pillow.
Ethan stared at that strand of hair for a long time, then twirled it around his fingertip, slowly winding it.
He didn't know what he was doing.
His phone vibrated; it was a message from his assistant: there was a creditors' meeting at 2 PM, and his mother, Eleanor, was already waiting in the conference room.
He deleted the message immediately, got up, and took a cold shower. Water splashed on him. He closed his eyes, his mind filled with the woman from last night.
She didn't cry out.
She didn't beg for mercy.
Even at the height of the conflict, she only bit her lip, her eyes tightly shut, as if enduring a storm destined to pass.
That quietness made him feel…unsatisfied.
He turned off the tap and smiled at his reflection in the mirror. The person in the mirror had bloodshot eyes and a dark stubble on his chin, looking like a bastard who had just crawled back from hell.
He put on the shirt from last night, unbuttoned, and went straight out.
The taxi circled Lower Manhattan for half an hour before finally stopping at the corner of the street from yesterday.
The rain had stopped. The air still carried a damp, cold, fishy smell. The streetlights looked exceptionally pale in the daytime, like the eyes of a hangover patient.
She was still there.
Lila Voss leaned against the same lamppost, still wearing the same black skirt, only now she wore a thin gray sweatshirt. Her hair was tied in a low ponytail, a few stray strands clinging to her forehead. She lowered her head to smoke, the smoke slowly exhaling from her lips, like kissing the air.
Ethan didn't go over immediately. He stood across the street, lit a cigarette, and watched her through the traffic.
She didn't look up. But it seemed she already knew someone was watching her.
Ten minutes later, she stubbed out her cigarette, looked up, and stared directly at him.
Their eyes met.
Ethan threw away his cigarette and crossed the street.
Reaching her in front of him, he didn't speak, but pulled a wad of cash from his wallet—this time five thousand dollars, brand new, the edges still bearing the marks of the bank's binding.
"One more time," he said.
Lila looked at the money, then looked up at him again.
"Didn't we agree last night? One night, no one bothering each other."
Her voice was soft, but slightly hoarse, like paper soaked in rain all night.
Ethan smiled. A self-deprecating smile.
"I've changed my mind." He shoved the money into her hand, this time grabbing her wrist before she could count it.
"Let's go. Same hotel."
Lila didn't pull away. She just glanced down at her wrist—his fingers were long, knuckles distinct, with faint red marks from last night's pinching.
She suddenly felt a pang of irony.
Last night he pinched her waist and shoulders; today he pinched her wrist.
It seemed that from beginning to end, her body had only been a tool for his venting.
"Okay," she finally spoke, "but this time, it'll cost more."
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
"How much?"
"Ten thousand." She looked up, meeting his gaze directly. "Ten thousand a night. No bargaining."
The air was silent for two seconds.
Ethan suddenly chuckled softly. His voice was deep, as if rolling from his chest.
"Deal." He pulled her into the car. This time it wasn't his sports car, but an ordinary black SUV—his assistant had called it at the last minute. He didn't want anyone to know what he was doing.
The car was quiet. Only the low hum of the air conditioner and her occasional breathing could be heard.
Lila leaned against the car window, watching the street scenes rush by. The neon signs, even in daylight, shone like a swarm of ghosts that refused to sleep.
She suddenly spoke: "What's your name?"
Ethan glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
"Ethan."
"Ethan…" she repeated, as if savoring the name, "a rich person's name."
"And you?"
"Lila."
She didn't say her surname. There was no need to.
The car was parked in the hotel's underground garage. The elevator went straight to the top floor.
This time, he didn't let her shower first when they entered the room.
As soon as the door closed, he hugged her from behind. His chin rested on her shoulder, his breathing heavy.
"You cried yesterday," he whispered, his hand already slipping under the hem of her sweatshirt.
Lila stiffened.
"No."
"Liar." He bit her earlobe, his voice hoarse with alcohol. "I saw your eyelashes were wet."
Lila closed her eyes. She didn't answer.
His hands were large, still warm from last night, slowly moving upwards to cover her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra, her skin pressed directly against his palm.
She trembled.
Ethan lowered his head and kissed her neck. His teeth lightly grazed her skin, leaving faint red marks.
"Relax," he murmured, "I won't hurt you…too much."
A lie.
He turned her around and pressed her against the door. The kiss was deep, his tongue prying open her teeth, as if trying to swallow all her resistance.
Lila's hands pressed against his chest, wanting to push him away, but slowly went limp.
She knew resistance was useless. Resistance would only make the process more unbearable.
Ethan's hands moved down, unbuttoning her skirt. The fabric slipped down, leaving her only in her underwear and sweatshirt.
He knelt down on one knee, placing her legs on his shoulders.
Lila gasped.
"No…" her voice trembled.
He looked up at her. His eyes were dark, like the sea before a storm.
"What are you afraid of?" he chuckled. "You didn't say no last night."
Then he lowered his head and kissed her most sensitive spot.
Lila bit her lip, her nails digging into her palms.
He was skilled. His tongue moved nimbly, as if tracing a painting that belonged only to him.
Her body began to tremble uncontrollably. Her breathing became erratic, her legs so weak she could barely stand.
Ethan supported her hips, lifted her up, and carried her straight to the bed.
The moment he threw her down, she saw the fire in his eyes.
Not gentleness. It was plunder.
He took off his shirt, revealing his muscular chest and abs. The scratches from last night were still there, glaringly red.
He pressed down, his knees spreading her legs again.
This time there wasn't much foreplay.
He entered her directly.
Lila groaned, gripping the sheets with both hands.
Deeper than last night. Even more ruthless.
He moved quickly, as if punishing her, and punishing himself.
"Scream," he growled, biting her earlobe. "Don't fucking hold it in."
Lila shook her head. Tears slid down her cheeks and into her hair.
She couldn't scream. If she did, she would truly lose.
Ethan suddenly stopped, supporting himself above her.
"You're crying," his voice was hoarse.
Lila opened her eyes. Tears blurred her vision.
"No," she repeated.
He lowered his head and kissed away the tears from the corners of her eyes.
His movements were unexpectedly gentle.
Then he continued. The rhythm slowed, as if savoring.
This time it wasn't release. It was possession.
Possessing her body, her breath, her tears.
Lila finally couldn't hold back and let out a soft sob.
For a moment, Ethan's body visibly stiffened.
He suddenly hugged her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
"Damn it…" he cursed under his breath.
The climax came violently, like a tsunami.
He released with a low growl, and she trembled.
Afterwards, he didn't leave immediately.
He held her in his arms, like a fragile piece of porcelain.
The room was quiet. Only their heavy breathing and the faint sound of traffic outside the window.
Lila curled up in his arms, her eyes closed.
She knew this wasn't the end. Just another continuation of the transaction.
Ethan looked down at her. Her eyelashes were still trembling.
He suddenly spoke: "Why didn't you take the extra money?"
Lila opened her eyes. Her voice was soft.
"If I took it, it would truly be yours."
Ethan didn't speak.
He just held her tighter.
His chest felt heavy.
He thought last night was just a game.
Now he realized this woman possessed a kind of poison.
Once tasted a second time, there was no going back.
Outside the window, the neon lights began to flicker again.
As if mocking them.