A DANGEROUS ESCAPE
David felt his penthouse was like a luxurious coffin. Every corner screamed Elara's name. Without thinking, he contacted his circle of business friends and decided tonight to be someone else—not the heartbroken husband, not the anxious father, just the invincible David Yang.
At "The Oculus," the city's most exclusive club, he was greeted by his friends' cheers. Champagne flowed, house music throbbed, and David immersed himself in the pretense. He laughed louder, joked more crudely, and drank more heavily than usual.
"Hey, where's your bodyguard, David?" a friend asked.
"Tonight,I want to be an ordinary man," he replied, downing another glass of expensive cognac. But his eyes, scanning every long-haired woman in the crowd, betrayed him.
And behind the bar, Natasha watched. She recognized that look—the look of a lost man. A faint smile appeared on her lips. Her plan was falling into place.
THE FALL OF THE KING
By midnight, David was heavily drunk. The world spun, voices became indistinct roars. When he tried to stand, his knees buckled.
"Whoa, careful there, tiger!" a friend cheered, laughing.
Natasha quickly approached."I'll take him home. He's had too much to drink."
She supported the staggering David out of the club,taking him not to his penthouse, but to her private apartment on the 58th floor.
AT NATASHA'S APARTMENT
The apartment was minimalist, cold, starkly different from David's home filled with Elara's touches. Natasha laid him on a white-canopied bed.
"Elara..." David mumbled in semi-consciousness, his hand reaching into the air.
"Shhh,I'm here," Natasha whispered, starting to unbutton his shirt with skilled hands.
David opened his eyes, his vision blurry. In the dim light, Natasha with her long hair, her partly opened black dress—he saw Elara.
"You... came back to me," he hissed, his voice hoarse with longing.
He pulled Natasha onto the bed,his movements rough but filled with desperation.
EXPLICIT SCENE: THE BREACH OF BOUNDARIES
Natasha did not resist. Instead, she responded with long-restrained passion. Her hands opened David's shirt, her red nails tracing his hard abdominal muscles.
"Love me, David," she whispered between heated kisses. "Forget everything."
David,in his alcoholic haze and illusion, thought this was his wife. His hands groped Natasha's body recklessly, removing the rest of her clothing. Natasha arched her back, moaning David's name with fake tremors.
They tumbled on the silk sheets. David kissed her deeply, but the lips he kissed were not Elara's—thinner, harder. His hands squeezed Natasha's breasts, but their shape was different, smaller. In his semi-conscious state, his brain registered these mismatched signals, but alcohol and longing drowned them out.
Natasha took the lead, using every trick she knew. She reversed their positions, now on top, her body moving over David. Her eyes remained open, observing every change in David's expression—searching for doubt, but finding only blind desperation.
"Say you love me," she hissed, moving faster.
"I...love you, Elara," David groaned, his hands gripping Natasha's hips.
The name was like a knife,but Natasha smiled bitterly. So be it. Tonight, she was Elara. Tomorrow, reality would speak.
The room filled with sounds of panting, groans, and the creaking bed. The scent of alcohol, expensive perfume, and sweat blended into the aroma of betrayal. On the wall, their shadows moved wildly like silhouettes in a tragedy.
CLIMAX AND SILENCE
As the climax arrived, David let out a long groan, his entire body convulsing before going limp. Natasha remained on top for a moment before rolling aside.
The sudden silence felt louder than the club music. David fell asleep almost instantly, his body exhausted by alcohol and physical release. But his face, even in sleep, remained contorted as if in pain.
Natasha rose, her body damp with their sweat. She stood before a full-length mirror, examining the grip marks on her hips, the red marks on her neck. All of this would be evidence.
DECEITFUL PLAN: PRESERVING THE BETRAYAL
With a cold heart, Natasha picked up her phone. She set the timer, then lay back down beside David. As light from neighboring apartments flickered through the window, she made sure both their faces were clearly visible.
Click.
First photo: David sleeping shirtless, with Natasha leaning on his shoulder, her face satisfied.
Click.
Second photo: Close-up of the kiss marks on Natasha's neck.
Click.
Third photo: The most devastating one—Natasha holding David's limp hand, placing it on her exposed thigh, as if just after intimacy.
She saved the photos in three different places: private cloud, external hard drive, and one set printed. The smile on her face was no longer bitter, but filled with cold triumph.
"This is for you, Elara," she whispered to a photo of Elara in a socialite magazine that happened to be on her desk. "For all the years you took what was mine."
A DAWN OF REGRET
At dawn, David woke to a pounding headache. His eyes opened, slowly focusing on the unfamiliar ceiling. Then he turned his head.
Natasha slept beside him, her hair spread on the pillow, a sheet covering only to her waist. Memories began flooding back like fragments of a nightmare—his hands groping a body that wasn't Elara's, his lips kissing not his wife's, his groans calling the wrong name in the most intimate moments.
He sat up abruptly, nauseous. Not just from the alcohol.
"Natasha,"his voice was hoarse. "What did we do?"
Natasha opened her eyes, a satisfied smile on her lips. "Don't you remember? You were very... passionate last night."
She pulled back the sheet,revealing more skin, more evidence.
David turned away, his nausea peaking. He jumped from the bed, rushed to the bathroom, and vomited—cognac, last night, and unbearable guilt.
Behind the bathroom door, he stared at his face in the mirror—the face of a betrayer. Tears finally fell, not for himself, but for Elara who was alone somewhere, for the marriage he had just destroyed with his own hands.
And behind the door, Natasha stood with her phone. The photos had already been sent to her backup email. The weapon was ready.
"Good morning, David," she said as he emerged with a shattered face. "It seems we need to talk."
But what she meant by "talk" was blackmail. And David, in his total ruin, knew that the worst night of his life had just begun.