Mr. Jenkins' eyes gleamed with excitement.
"Let's celebrate, Dahlia. Just the two of us," he suggested, his voice low and persuasive.
I hesitated, feeling uneasy.
"I don't know, Mr. Jenkins. I should probably get home."
But he persisted.
"Nonsense, Dahlia. You deserve to unwind. I know a great place."
He led me to a secluded, upscale restaurant, tucked away in a quiet alley.
The dim lighting and soft music enveloped me, making me feel disoriented.
"Try the wine," Mr. Jenkins suggested, pouring me a glass.
I hesitated, but he urged.
"Come on, Dahlia. Loosen up. You're a star now."
The wine flowed, and I lost count of glasses.
Mr. Jenkins laughed and joked, refilling my glass.
At first, I felt relaxed, but soon the room began to spin.
"I...think I've had enough," I slurred, struggling to focus.
Mr. Jenkins smiled.
"Just one more. To seal our partnership."
I tried to protest, but my words slurred together.
The next thing I knew, I was stumbling out of the restaurant.
Mr. Jenkins held me close, his grip tightening.
"Let's get you home," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.
But something didn't feel right.
My instincts screamed warning, but my foggy mind couldn't process.
Mr. Jenkins' grip tightened as he led me through the hotel lobby.
"Where are we?" I slurred, confusion etched on my face.
"Somewhere quiet," he whispered, his eyes gleaming.
I tried to protest, but my words slurred together.
Before I knew it, we were in a luxurious hotel room.
Mr. Jenkins pushed me onto the bed.
"Relax, Dahlia," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin.
I tried to push him away, but he held me firm.
"Let's have another drink," he suggested, producing a glass from nowhere.
I shook my head.
"No...I've had enough."
But Mr. Jenkins persisted.
"Just one more," he coaxed.
I tried to refuse, but he forced the glass to my lips.
Some of the liquid spilled onto my clothes, making them cling to my body.
The fabric turned sheer, revealing more than I wanted.
Mr. Jenkins' eyes roamed my body, his gaze burning with desire.
I felt a surge of fear.
"Drink up," he whispered.
I hesitated, but he held me firm.
The liquid burned my throat as I drank.
My head spun.
Mr. Jenkins' face blurred.
As the liquid coursed through my veins, my body began to heat up.
At first, it felt like a flush spreading through my skin.
But soon, my thoughts grew foggy.
My limbs felt heavy.
I tried to struggle, but my movements were sluggish.
That's when I realized.
I'd been drugged.
Panic set in.
I tried to push Mr. Jenkins away.
But he only smiled.
"Relax, Dahlia," he whispered.
His eyes gleamed with excitement.
As I lost control, my shirt ripped open.
My breasts spilled out.
Mr. Jenkins' eyes locked onto them.
He leaned in, his mouth closing around my nipple.
I tried to scream.
But my voice was barely audible.
As Mr. Jenkins' hands continued to fondle me, I felt utterly helpless, trapped in a nightmare.
But then, a thunderous yell shattered the air.
A figure burst into the room, a blur of motion.
"Get your filthy hands off her!" the figure bellowed, his voice dripping with rage.
The figure charged towards Mr. Jenkins, grabbing him by the collar.
He hurled Mr. Jenkins across the room.
Fists flew, pounding Mr. Jenkins relentlessly.
"You sick pervert!" the figure yelled.
Mr. Jenkins stumbled, crashing to the floor.
The figure stood over him, chest heaving.
"Touch her again, and you're dead," he growled.
I struggled to focus.
The figure's face remained blurry.
But the fury in his eyes was unmistakable.
Suddenly, the pounding stopped.
Mr. Jenkins lay motionless.
The figure turned to me.
"Dahlia, are you okay?" he asked.
His voice sounded familiar.
Clyde?
No, it couldn't be.
But the concern in his eyes.