Chapter 3
Shania was waiting to see me fall apart after the breakup–crying, throwing tantrums, threatening to die, clinging to Samuel like a mess.
But she saw that I remained the same. I was still working and attending school. Life returned to normal.
Just for a small bit of freedom–cut my three jobs down to two.
Sometimes I could have steak or seared tuna and have a bottle of fresh milk after meals.
I even gained 1.5 kg.
I didn’t beg to get back together, didn’t act desperate over Samuel.
Right after the breakup, I deleted all his contacts–clean and complete.
None of it matched her expectations. She threw a fit and said the game was boring.
After that, she started targeting me in the dorm.
She kept hiding nails in my shoes and pouring cold water on my blanket during winter.
Later, my dad lost a ton of money gambling and owed the Hanson family a huge debt.
To pay it back, he offered me compensation.
That was how I accidentally became Samuel’s kept woman.
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Honestly, I had started thinking maybe I could really live with him.
Samuel was always cold. He never touched me.
But starting early this year, he suddenly began to kiss me.
That night, he came home drunk.
I helped him onto the sofa and made hot tea to sober him up.
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He suddenly wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me into his lap, and
kissed me softly.
I rarely kissed before–almost ran out of air.
He chuckled. “So this is what you taste like. Sweet.
“Next time we kiss, remember to breathe.”
That night, he took my virginity.
After that, he began trying all kinds of wild things with me.
He didn’t like using condoms.
He liked messing with me when the butler and maids were around.
I could only bite my lip and endure it.
The more I did, the more he seemed to enjoy it.
He had a weird habit–when we were doing it at night, he liked making me call his name over and over.
“What’s my name?”
“Samuel, you’re Samuel.”
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“Wrong. Say it again.”
“What’s wrong with you, Samuel?”
He held back the rage in his eyes.
The more I called his name, the rougher he got.
He was a bit unhinged during sex–like a mad dog that needed to be stroked the right way.
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But he liked being affectionate, loved kissing me, knew my stomach was weak, and made me porridge to help.
On my birthday, he set off fireworks all night over Cambridge.
As they exploded in the sky, he stroked my head and said, “Baby, let’s live a good life together.”
When I had nightmares, he’d wake me gently, hold me close, and whisper, “Don’t be scared, baby.”
And slowly, I started thinking–I might like him a little.
A few months ago, once again, he pushed me down and refused to use a
condom.
I asked, “What if I get pregnant?”
He kissed me. “Then have it. I’ll raise it.”
Marriage was his idea.
That night, after everything, he leaned over me and said, “Baby, don’t be my lover–be my partner.”
Looking back now, from the very first time we slept together, that man
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probably wasn’t Samuel–it was Jimmy.
And the proposal was just another prank.
I really did want to keep this child.
But now, it no longer seems worth it.
