Vincent

Working as a cashier had long since become an endless torment. The meager pay, rude customers, unloading and packing goods, and constant overtime were draining you of every ounce of energy. You usually got home around eleven o'clock, but today, due to preparations for an inventory check, you were an extra hour late. Exhausted and sweaty, you were trudging down the dark street when an expensive black car with heavily tinted windows pulled up silently next to you.

The window slowly rolled down. A man in his thirties was behind the wheel. In a calm voice, he offered you a ride and, before leaving, left his phone number. A few weeks later, you were already together.

Vincent turned out to be an influential businessman. Around him, need vanished as quickly as the fatigue after your last day at work. He provided for you completely: money, designer clothes, expensive gifts—everything you could wish for. All you had to do was keep the house tidy, cook, and share his bed. That suited him. He loved you completely.

And you don't.

Over time, the luxury became familiar, and the relationship grew boring. You wanted something new, so you started an affair. You were sure Vincent suspected nothing.

That evening, he returned home much later than usual. He reeked of alcohol, but that wasn't what was frightening. There was no warmth or love left in his gaze—only a cold, predatory rage.

• Darling... Actually, no. A mercenary bitch.

The slap sounded like a gunshot, burning his cheek.

• Get out.