But before I could linger on it, I got up to clean myself, telling myself over and over that Raphael loved me. That he truly cared.
The alternative was something I was not ready to face.
As I stepped out of the room after showering, I made my way toward the room where Raphael and his friends were gathered.
Just before I could push the door open fully, their laughter spilled into the hallway—casual, mocking, and all too familiar.
“Imagine if tonight’s intimate videos were spread on the internet. The Delaunay family's reputation would definitely be ruined, right?”
“Right! Their daughter’s body displayed like that—how could they not be embarrassed? Haha.”
“To be honest, when I saw it, I also wanted to try it.”
“Damn you,” someone else chuckled. “Before you even succeed, you’d already feel Raphael’s fist.”
My body froze. My fingers clutched the doorframe, my nails digging into the wood as their words slammed into me like icy blades.
My intimate videos? Raphael had... recorded us?
No. No, it could not be true.
But then, Raphael’s voice cut through their laughter, calm and composed, his tone carrying that infuriating air of superiority. “That’s why you shouldn’t make the Moreau family a rival.”