I bit my lip and switched to alcohol. James didn’t know that in my eight years as his secretary, I’d developed a stomach ulcer and couldn’t drink.
“I can’t drink alcohol.”
“Emma, don’t drink. Your stomach condition will act up tonight.”
“You’re so caring, James. But that was eight years ago,” Emma cooed.
My heart felt like it was being stabbed repeatedly.
He remembered Emma’s stomach issues so clearly, yet when I was hospitalized for ulcers, he hadn’t noticed at all – and now he was forcing me to drink.
I grabbed the bottle and took large gulps.
The alcohol burned my stomach, but I couldn’t feel it. My heart hurt more.
“Such a good drinker, yet you claimed you couldn’t drink. Sarah, do you have a problem with my girlfriend?” James watched me with a mocking smile.
Suddenly, acid rushed up my throat. I rushed out, doubled over in the bathroom, violently sick.
After finishing, I returned to the room.
The party was still lively, with James holding Emma close, both laughing intimately.
I quietly grabbed my bag and left.
Goodbye, James.
I’d booked a flight home for tomorrow.
Let tonight be our final farewell.
Leaving the bar, I’d barely walked a few steps when hands grabbed me from behind and dragged me into an alley.
“Who are you? Let go! What do you want?”
“What do we want?” Several thuggish men blocked my path, leering. “What do you think, pretty girl? Come play with us!”
I screamed in panic, “Help! Someone help me!”
