After a few rounds of drinks, Victor's fellow rich colleague got emboldened by the alcohol. He suggested, "A few hundred grand is nothing. Mr. Whytton, don’t you have something more exciting for us? Let's do something big, take it to the next level!"
Victor gave him a smug, "You’re on the right track" kind of look, then started rummaging through his phone and casually connected it to the screen.
I was a dancer, so I was used to being filmed.
On the big screen, my graceful dance moves and delicate face were on full display. But I never imagined that one day, the screen would show me flushed with desire.
The constant pointing and mocking felt like daggers stabbing straight into my chest.
What drowned me out wasn’t applause. It was an overwhelming tide of shame.
I gripped the door handle tightly, my nails digging into my palm. The blood stained the glass door, but I still couldn’t bring myself to open it.
Years ago, I was being stalked by a delusional fan. Victor came into the scene like some hero out of a movie. He swooped in to save me. After that, he seemed to fell for me at first sight.