"I hate you." My voice cracks as I tell him.
His feet stop at the door.
I clutch the bedsheet tightly around my chest as he turns around with an emotionless face.
"Then there will be a lot of hate fucking between us." A smirk curve his lips as his g...
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I walk into the guest washroom, the one that Spanish woman Martina had shown me.
Lights automatically lit up like magic as my foot touch in and my lips curve in a big :O as I stare at the exorbitant lavish lifestyle this man lives.
The walls are studded with emerald colour marble with white in a pattern of waves that I could not even afford after selling my entire family's right kidney. The floorings have a rough pattern of beige colour that I can't afford either after selling their left kidney.
A small chandelier glows in the center and my eyes reflect to the long horizontal mirror, edged by wooden cabinets which are occupied by Dior's cleanser, body lotion, scents, and sets of folded napkins.
I almost fall over the hideous sight of me in the mirror. I am mess of a mess. I look like a racoon who survived a tsunami. No wonder why he told me to freshen up and change first, before the meeting.
I keep the shopping bag on the counter but my curiosity is not done exploring his bathroom that is bigger than the size of master-bedroom of my house. Glass shower and a high-tech Japanese toilet, both in each corner.
I close my mouth in self-dignity but it soon falls down many floors as I see a huge egyptian size bathtub beside a glass door which ends up to a small balcony view. Fuck you rich people!
My eyes crawl to the wooden finishing door to the other side of his guest washroom and I stride open in curiosity. Lights glow from all the corners with another chandelier on top as the empty wardrobe welcomes me.
A floor to ceiling mirror covers the center while the street lines up with glass slabs and drawers which are completely vacant, as if he never had any guests before. It's like walking into an empty showroom.
With a tiny clench in my heart, I walk back to the counter where I had left the bag. The bag. What did he get me? What did he get me? My anxiety asks as well.
I look at the pink shopping bag and the clench in my stomach tightens, knowing whatever is inside it, he personally picked up for me. I bite the feeling of little butterflies in my stomach as I open the bag.
*Duh* *Duh* *Duh*
I pull out the first box, which contains soft velvet flip-flops with a smiling furry face on it. Cute. Second I pull out a slick, black colour hairband with cat ears on them. That's weird. And lastly I pull out a red colour dress. No, it's a top. A silky, red colour see-through top with fragile strips attached to its shoulder and a lacy thong as its partner.
What the-What the-What the FUCK?
My brain couldn't connect with my senses as it runs at the speed of light trying to find logic behind these items. That's when my gaze falls above the 32C tag of the silk top, which spells Victoria's Secret Lingerie.
