On set.

Director Wilson called cut and emerged from behind the monitor, beaming: "That emotional layering was brilliant, Marcus. Absolutely brilliant."


Under the crew's scrutinizing gazes, I lowered my head, the costume suddenly feeling like needles against my skin.

After wrap, I dodged the usual small talk, making a beeline for the exit.

Just as freedom beckoned in the form of the parking lot, a voice called out:


"Marcus, hold up."

My spine turned to ice as I slowly pivoted.


Director Wilson sauntered over, glanced around for witnesses, then smiled like a shark scenting blood.

"Noticed your legs were shaking during that scene?"

His eyes raked over my body, lingering at my waist. "Practice a bit too... vigorously last night?"

My stomach dropped.

Had this sleaze somehow figured out the switch?

Before I could fabricate an excuse, his arm snaked around my waist, yanking me against him.

The practiced ease of his movement made bile rise in my throat.

I shoved him back, my voice cracking: "Director Wilson! Have some goddamn self-respect!"

He froze, then let out a low chuckle, as if my resistance was part of some game.

Closing the gap between us, his whiskey-soured breath hot on my face:

"Playing hard to get now, Professor Zhou? After wrap? Really?"

Before I could process his words, he lunged forward, his wet tongue sliding across my ear.

Revulsion hit me like a physical blow. I stood paralyzed, my brain refusing to process what was happening.

"Last night in my suite, when you were riding me and moaning 'baby,' you weren't so shy."

His words hit like a sledgehammer. My vision tunneled, knees threatening to buckle.

He seized my moment of shock, arm snaking around my waist, other hand landing a stinging slap on my ass.

"Mmm," he hummed appreciatively, "Fresh meat is always so... firm."

Humiliation coursed through me, setting every nerve ending alight.

"Don't worry, I've got a special toy ready for next time. You'll be even more... hungry than last night."

My scalp prickled, cold sweat drenching my costume.

With a desperate shove, I broke free and bolted.

His laughter chased me: "Not so fast, Professor Zhou! You're coming to the charity gala next week, right?"

He caught up, his presence like a shadow as he whispered:

"Heard your wife's hot spring villa is quite the romantic getaway..."

"Imagine us there—under the stars, steam rising all around. Much better than some hotel room, don't you think?"

I didn't look back, just ran as if the hounds of hell were at my heels.