Dhevaprom: Kwanruetai

Chapter 23

Pakrit looked at the young woman sobbing uncontrollably, his heart heavy with sympathy. Thankfully, he had arrived just in time. Even so, Pogkhet had already suffered at the hands of that vile man. After tying up an unconscious Arthawit in the other room, Pakrit brought Pogkhet to his own suite to let her regain her composure. He decided to wait until she felt calmer before figuring out their next steps.

He handed her a warm glass of milk, which she accepted with trembling hands. After what had just happened, it was hard to imagine any woman not feeling shaken. Arthawit was a monster hiding behind a facade of respectability. From the moment he entered the party, Pakrit had heard numerous rumors about him. As the son of a fashion house owner, Arthawit had lured many unsuspecting models into his schemes.

"How are you feeling?" Pakrit asked gently. "Do you want to call Khun Chat? I can connect you."

Pogkhet shook her head, covering her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"No, please don't," she replied. "I'm afraid he'll panic. P'Pak, don't tell anyone—not my parents, not anyone. I'm scared..."

Pakrit watched her, his heart aching, before pulling her into a comforting embrace. Her tears soaked into his shirt as he stroked her hair soothingly. The way she now addressed him revealed a shift—her walls had begun to crumble.

"Don't be scared, Khun Khet," he reassured her softly. "I'm here. From now on, no one will hurt you."

Those simple words made her heart swell with gratitude. She looked up at him, their eyes meeting.

"For a moment, I thought I was in hell," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"It's my fault... I shouldn't have let you out of my sight when I've been watching over you all along," he confessed.

"You were watching me? I didn't notice," she replied, a hint of surprise breaking through her tears.

"Well, you told me to stay away, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean it! I was just annoyed because you made my colleagues bombard me with questions I wasn't ready for," she admitted, tears spilling again.

Pakrit gently wiped her tears away and held her close. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how to handle it. How about this? If you're uncomfortable, I'll explain everything to everyone tomorrow."

"There's no need. None of that matters now. You saved me from that monster," she said, her voice firm but emotional.

"Try not to think about it anymore," Pakrit advised. "Why don't you take a shower and rest? We can figure things out in the morning."

Pogkhet glanced toward her room, where the confrontation had taken place. Arthawit was still unconscious, tied up. She hesitated.

"What will we do tonight? I can't go back to my room," she said, her voice trembling.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, meeting her gaze with sincerity.

After a moment, she nodded. "I do."

"Then rest here. I'll sleep on the sofa. I promise, on my honor as a man, that nothing inappropriate will happen."

Later that night, Pogkhet lay awake, unable to sleep despite her exhaustion. The traumatic experience kept her mind racing. She glanced over at Pakrit, who was sound asleep on the sofa. She felt fortunate—he had intervened just in time and even managed to swap the spiked drink Arthawit had prepared for her, thanks to a stroke of luck. She shuddered, thinking about how things could have ended differently.

Her gaze lingered on Pakrit. Not only had he given up his bed for her, but he had also made her feel safe. All the hotel rooms were fully booked, leaving her no choice but to stay with him. Now, she had to decide whether to report what had happened—a decision weighed down by fears of judgment, police scrutiny, and the possible repercussions for her family. Her mother and brothers would be furious, especially Arada, who might face the brunt of the fallout.