For four years at university, Dean treated me like a dog. He'd pet me when he was pleased, and kick me when he was angry. Once, during a particularly painful period, he kicked me into the swimming pool. When he ordered his cronies to torment me, he'd secretly record it. Even for the morning-after pill, I had to pay for it myself. He was a cold-blooded devil who had tormented me for ten years. Yet, later, I found him on his knees in a pool of blood, choking back sobs as he begged for my forgiveness. He swore he'd make everyone who'd hurt me vanish—including himself. "I wish everyone else could see you like this, you pathetic little slut, begging for it," Dean whispered, his voice a low growl against my collarbone. His vile words slithered into my ears. "A slut, am I? And what does that make you, who's been chasing this 'slut' for ten years?" I retorted, a cold laugh escaping my lips as I met his lust-filled gaze. His strikingly handsome, rebellious face twisted instantly, the scar above his eyebrow making him look even more feral. Lust and rage mingled, erupting into a violent storm of punishment. "Watch closely," he snarled, his voice thick with a dark promise, "this is how a dog marks its territory." 1 The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom. Casually, I slipped two hundred dollars from Dean's wallet and dropped it into my piggy bank. He had always been baffled by this habit, assuming it was simply greed. So, he'd tried various ways to shower me with gifts. A twenty-million-dollar deed to a house? I tore it up. A two-million-dollar diamond ring? I tossed it into a sewage drain. Only these vibrant red banknotes, accumulating to the point of overflowing, did I keep. 2 "Your first love, Sebastian Gosling, is getting married," Dean announced, wrapped only in a towel, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. He ran his hands through his wet hair with a wild, careless gesture, droplets tracing paths down his sculpted abs, disappearing into places that stirred the imagination. "To Isabella Reed." He paused, a calculated silence, as if expecting to pique my interest. "What do I care?" I replied, shrugging. Failing to elicit the reaction he anticipated, Dean's dissatisfaction simmered. He leaned over me, pinning me with his intense gaze, a playful menace in his eyes. "We simply must send our blessings! After all, you once would have given your life to protect him." He chuckled, a low, unsettling sound. "Tell me… what if I sent him those videos of you as a wedding gift?" "You psycho!" My voice trembled, a tell-tale sign of my agitation. Dean’s smile widened, an almost demonic glee in his eyes, as if his twisted prank had landed perfectly. "That's right, glare at me just like that. In the videos, you had the same look in your eyes..." 3 Honestly, Sebastian Gosling wasn't really my 'first love' in any meaningful sense. It was just a high school crush, a pink-envelope love letter slipped to the star student. The next day, Isabella had dragged me into the girls' restroom and doused me with ice water. "Crushing on Sebastian? You? You don't deserve him!" she'd spat, her hand rising to deliver a stinging slap across my face. It burned. That's when Dean kicked open the door. His clothes hung loosely, his gaze sweeping over my shirt, now clinging to my skin and revealing my underwear. He let out a low whistle. "Call me 'big brother,' and I'll help you get revenge." I didn't. And so, he and Isabella joined forces, weaving an endless tapestry of nightmares for me. Sebastian Gosling, in a twisted way, had been at the heart of it all. 4 On the day of Sebastian and Isabella's wedding, Dean dragged me along. Isabella glowed, a vision of happiness, nestled against Sebastian. Their gazes, when they met, were brimming with affection. Seeing the boy I once adored marry the girl who had pulled my hair and slapped me—a notorious mean girl—a bitter taste settled in my heart. Dean, sensing my low spirits, tightened his arm around my waist, a silent display of his displeasure. "Keep staring and I swear I'll take you right here, right now." As the powerful and wealthy heir to the Sterling fortune, Dean was constantly surrounded by people eager to speak with him. "Well, well, if it isn't 'Two-Hundred-Bucks'!" A balding man reeking of alcohol stumbled closer. "Still not tired of her, Dean?" The familiar nickname sent a chill down my spine. Years ago, Dean had stood over my shadow, holding my love letter high above his head. "'You are like a star in the heavens, illuminating my dull life...'" he'd mimicked, pinching his voice to a high-pitched, girlish tone, reciting every word I'd written for Sebastian. My face burned with shame. I stretched on my tiptoes, desperate to snatch the letter back, oblivious to how close we were. "So eager to throw yourself at a man? How much for a night, huh?" Dean's words had left me frozen in humiliated silence, unsure how to react. From the crowd, someone had yelled, "Two hundred bucks for an all-nighter!" The entire class erupted in laughter. From then on, "Two-Hundred-Bucks" became my personal moniker, following me for years. 5 The memory-fueled rage manifested as a stinging slap across the bald man's face, leaving him stunned. Snapping back to reality, his bloodshot, alcohol-hazed eyes widened. "You little slut, you dare hit me!" Just as his fist was about to descend, Dean stepped in front of me, effortlessly snapping the man's wrist before kicking him aside. I was pulled into a warm embrace, the familiar scent of rich mahogany engulfing me. "You dare lay a hand on my woman?" Dean snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. The commotion caught the attention of the wedding party. "Audrey, what in the—you're still mixed up with Dean?" Sebastian's concerned voice reached me from behind, tightening a knot in my chest. "Sebastian, you've already married my goddess. Can't you even spare me a broken toy?" Dean's barbed words, sharp as daggers, plunged deep into my heart. Like a cornered, panicked rabbit, I blurted out, "A broken toy? You'd still want that?" "Broken toys are more... resilient, aren't they?" Dean challenged, his gaze fixed on Sebastian. Then, he grabbed my chin and publicly bit my lower lip. The metallic tang of blood spread through my mouth as the dazzling crystal chandeliers blurred my vision. Right. How could I compare to his goddess? I was just a plaything he'd taken to his bed. 6 After Isabella's wedding, Dean seemed to snap. The word "marriage" was constantly on his lips. "Hey, where's that ring I gave you? Put it on! Let's go get hitched!" "If you want to act crazy, find someone else. The 'friends-with-benefits-turned-spouse' trope? Aren't you tired of how cliché that is?" I rolled my eyes, unwilling to play along with his sudden display of deep affection. Even more ridiculously, he planned a four-person honeymoon trip. I knew perfectly well it wasn't a honeymoon; it was just an excuse to bring a shield along to accompany his ex-lover. Seeing my indifference, Dean didn't seem angry. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, leaning in close, his voice a soft murmur, like a lover's whisper. "Your parents... how have they been lately?" His most practiced trick, yet still the most effective. 7 The air in Bali was light and humid, and the waves of heat made me restless. Isabella, in a lace swimsuit, kept pressing herself against Dean, her ample cleavage inviting suggestive glances. I, being afraid of water, lay on the shore, feigning illness. "Aren't you coming to swim, Aubrey?" Isabella asked, tilting her head, feigning innocence. "Still mad about those old little things? It was just a game, you know." She pouted, cooing to Dean, "Dean, darling, maybe I should bow to her as an apology?" I was too weary to play the spoiled princess's game and turned to leave, but his hand clamped around my wrist like iron pliers. "Bella has graciously invited you. Don't be so dramatic; go swim with her for a bit." Dean tugged at my arm, forcefully dragging me to the edge of the pool. I resisted with all my might. Finally, his patience worn thin, he hoisted me onto his shoulder and tossed me directly into the water. The icy liquid instantly filled my nasal cavity, the sensation of drowning dragging me back to that past swimming lesson. Dean had done the same then, throwing me, a girl on her period, into the water like trash. Everyone had stood on the shore, hands on hips, laughing as I struggled, like a dying swan. Someone had shrieked, "Why is she bleeding?" Dean had wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You're getting the pool dirty. So gross." Back then, I had shivered uncontrollably, only daring to cling to the pool's edge, forbidden to get out without his permission. But this time, I felt as if I'd lost the strength to struggle, letting my body sink deeper and deeper. Just as I was about to succumb to darkness, an arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me to the surface. "What are you doing?" The fantasized hero still hadn't appeared. It was only Dean, his face livid, cursing me out. "What the hell is wrong with you, trying to drown yourself?!" He pinned me against the pool wall, the panic in his eyes starkly visible. "Don't you want me dead anyway? Just doing as you wished." My water-choked voice was hoarse. His pupils constricted sharply. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. 8 That night, Dean was exceptionally rough, tormenting me in every conceivable way. He blindfolded me with a dark blue tie, his warm, moist breath caressing my ear. "Guess what Sebastian and Isabella are doing in the next room?" The darkness heightened every sensation, and I felt his nimble fingers tracing paths across my body, eliciting shivers. I bit down hard on my lips in shame, desperate not to let any sound escape. At first, I clenched my teeth, enduring it. But eventually, instinct overwhelmed me. In my hazy state, I heard the sound of Dean's phone unlocking, and my blood ran cold. "Are you filming again, you sick bastard?!" I screamed, panicking, struggling to tear off the tie. He pinned my struggling hand with one of his, chuckling darkly. "It's fine, I'm just enjoying it myself. I'll delete it after." He'd said the same thing back then! In that filthy equipment room, Dean, with a group of his cronies, had held me down, their hands all over me. And he, unhurried, had sat before me with a camera, recording my humiliation. To this day, that video remained perfectly preserved on his computer, a chain binding me. 9 Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains. Isabella, stifling a yawn, complained to me, "Can you two be a little more considerate of your neighbors?" Embarrassed, I stirred my coffee, unable to meet her gaze. Dean walked in, rubbing his shoulder. His black silk pajama top had slipped, revealing a blood-stained bandage. Sebastian, pouring coffee, paused. "Injured?" "Got scratched by a little kitten last night. A paw-sized bloody mess, hurt like hell." As he spoke, he peeled back a piece of gauze, revealing the wound to everyone. "That brutal?! A biting animal like that should be put down," Isabella gasped, suggesting. "Got scratched years ago, even worse than this one," Dean said, pointing to the faint, almost imperceptible scar above his eyebrow, then looked at me suggestively. "Tsk, just a bit temperamental, but quite entertaining. I'll keep her around." Sebastian, who had seemed unresponsive, suddenly looked at me, a flicker of guilt in his eyes that I couldn't quite decipher. I kept my head down, silent. Because the "unruly kitten" Dean spoke of was me. Last night, to retaliate for his secret filming, I had bitten hard into his shoulder several times. And that old scar, years in the making, bore witness to my past of blood and tears. 10 It was my first time, and Dean's first time. My first time resisting, his first time getting his head split open. And our first time in bed together... In the dilapidated motel room, Dean sat like a god. Before him, I knelt, tears streaming down my face, begging for mercy. "I'll let Sebastian go, but you have to sleep with me, or... you die." His hand gripped my hair tightly, his thin lips parting to offer me a fatal choice. At the time, I didn't know Sebastian came from a powerful family; I only thought he was as pitiable as me. To protect him, and my laughable dignity, I unhesitatingly rushed toward the window. I chose death, but Dean didn't give me the option. In the nick of time, he embraced me, forced himself upon me, leaving me with a wretched life. The cost: I became his pet. On call, ready for his release. Inexperienced, I trembled with fear. When Dean's kiss fell, I instinctively fought back. Grabbing the nearest beer bottle from the nightstand, I brought it down hard on his head. Blood stained half his face, making him look like a demon from hell. Scattered shards of glass grazed his eyebrow, adding a sinister edge to his sculpted features. "You made me bleed. As compensation, you'll have to bleed a little too..." As soon as the words left his lips, a tearing pain spread through my lower body. On the sheets, scattered drops of blood bloomed like red cherry blossoms. Dean gazed at his handiwork with satisfaction, then, in an act of twisted mercy, handed me some cash. "Buy yourself some ointment, and... don't forget to take the pill." I counted. It was exactly two hundred dollars.
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