When he woke up, he found himself lying on a bed, handcuffed, and his legs tied. He looked at me, then at the handcuffs with utter shock. I sat on a chair, waiting for him to wake up just so I could mock him:
“You're a dead man. Did you think you could do whatever you wanted to others without consequences?”
“So, what are you planning to do?”
What a dumb question. Obviously, revenge. I'm the type who always repays kindness and settles scores. I climbed onto the bed, pinned his arms down, and smirked:
“Payback.”
Suddenly, he laughed like he was on drugs. His laughter irritated me—it felt like he was mocking me, like he thought I couldn’t do anything to him. He tried to hold back his laughter before saying:
“Planning to r@pe me? Do you even have what it takes?”
Then he laughed again. The audacity! He was right—I didn’t have the ability to do that, and even if I did, I wouldn’t. I smiled sweetly:
“You sure can guess well.”
With that, I started unbuttoning his shirt. He looked at me and laughed even more. When I finally stripped off his shirt, he burst into laughter.
“Don't forget my pants too, sweetheart.”
His attitude pissed me off. If I were a man, I’d have r@ped him into oblivion. How could someone have such a perfect face and body?
I glared at him threateningly:
“Don't get too cocky. Do you believe I won’t just cut that thing of yours off?”
He immediately stopped laughing and looked at me as if he wanted to devour me alive.
“If you dare, you’ll never have a peaceful life again.”
His words sent a slight shiver down my spine. In America, I was alone with no one to back me up. If he wanted to destroy me, I’d have nowhere to run. But since I’d already come this far, I had to go all the way.
I tightened my grip on his arm and reached for his armpit. I froze for a good 20 seconds when I saw the tattoo on his arm—an eagle clutching a five-pointed star, beautifully designed.
Snap out of it! Focus!
I began tickling his armpit.
Strange. He curled up, but he didn’t laugh. I tickled him harder and faster. Soon enough, he was laughing uncontrollably, even tearing up. He must have lost control by now.
“Stop! If you don’t, you’ll regret it!”
Nice try. I wasn’t satisfied yet, so I didn’t stop. I moved down to the end of the bed and tickled the soles of his feet. He struggled and kept laughing like crazy.
When he was finally weak and squirming, I asked:
“What exactly did you do to make me lose my memory?”
He glared at me, his eyes still teary. Oh wow, what beautiful, sparkling eyes. I was momentarily mesmerized.
However, his half-hearted answer made me furious.
“I did nothing.”
Guess I was being too soft.
I rummaged through the drawer, found a pair of scissors, and held them up in front of him. His eyes widened in shock.
“You’re quite the wolf, huh? From the way you used that notebook, I thought you were a kind person.”
I smirked mischievously:
“So, are you going to talk now?”
No answer? You’ll regret this.
I lowered the scissors to his pant legs and cut through them. I slashed both pant legs apart. Then, I threw a blanket over him and stripped him completely before tossing his clothes aside.
He just lay there, stunned, staring at me.
I grinned slyly, turned my back to him, yanked the blanket off, and walked away.
Not looking at his body was a bit of a waste. But it was best not to. If I couldn’t control myself and ended up drooling, that’d be embarrassing.
After everything, I went out for a stroll. Before leaving, I told the hotel staff:
“Please clean room 15002 in two hours.”
I leisurely wandered the streets of New York. The first thing that caught my eye was chests and legs—every woman had breasts as big as grapefruits and endlessly long legs. I felt ashamed for not measuring up.
I stopped by a nearby supermarket to shop. My wallet only had a little money left. I had always been spoiled by the CEO and the Professor. Sigh.
I wandered around the supermarket, looking for something to buy as a gift for WC. For some reason, he felt like the gentlest place in my heart.
About three hours later, I returned to the hotel. I asked the receptionist if room 15002 had been cleaned yet. To my horror, she said that about an hour after I left, the cold-faced Professor had come back looking for me. He knocked multiple times, but no one answered. So, he called the staff to unlock the door and stormed in.
Inside, he found that bastard still lying on the bed, nearly naked (only in his underwear), with his hands cuffed and legs tied.
Oh no.
Just hearing this, I already felt like I was doomed. Originally, I had intended for that bastard to suffer the humiliation of being S-ed and embarrassed in front of the female housekeeping staff. But somehow, the cold-faced Professor got involved instead.
When I arrived at my room, I saw the Professor standing at the door, waiting for me. I approached him and timidly whispered:
“Hello, Professor. Is something wrong?”
Just then, that bastard also walked over. His expression was hard to describe—he was clearly seething with anger but was trying to appear calm.
Gulp.
If the Professor weren’t here, he would definitely tear me apart.
“Professor, what happened earlier was just a misunderstanding. I only asked your student to give me a massage. Nothing else. Right, dear?”
The way he said “Right, dear?” was so heavy with sarcasm.
He was technically rescuing me, yet I didn’t feel touched at all. Probably because he was glaring at me with deep resentment.