Sophie Smith could guarantee that this was undoubtedly the most humiliating moment of her twenty-one-year life.
She broke free from the man's grip, kicked off her ten-centimeter high heels, and dashed out of the room like a madwoman.
She knew that in less than ten minutes, everyone would know that she had made a run for it.
She felt as if her heart was about to leap out of her chest. Yet, she knew that at this moment, she couldn't panic, because aside from herself, no one could give her a hand.
She sneaked to the secluded back door of the villa; there was no one there, only a black, cold iron gate stood, which had been locked. She glanced up at it—it was five or six meters high. She paused for a moment, and resolutely decided to climb it.
She climbed carefully to the top, and with bare feet stepped onto the iron gate. She felt as if her soles were being pierced through.
When she was about a meter above the ground, her hand slipped, and she fell hard down to the ground.
