Chapter 424

The man's gaze slithered over Natasha's figure like a snake, pausing obscenely at her neckline. His lips curled into a predatory grin that made her skin crawl.

"Fifty grand," he drawled, licking his chapped lips. "For one night with me."

His beady eyes nearly disappeared as he laughed—a wet, guttural sound that triggered Natasha's gag reflex. Even at her most desperate, she'd rather starve than touch this repulsive creature.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Natasha hissed, her manicured nails digging into her palms.

She'd come to the Blackwood Group's parking garage that afternoon, hoping to catch Adrian and Vivian together. Instead, she'd stumbled upon this human-shaped cockroach lurking between the luxury cars.

The memory of Maxwell's blackmail surfaced like bile in her throat. That video of her assault—her darkest hour—used as leverage to make her sabotage Vivian. She despised Maxwell, but her hatred for Vivian burned brighter.

Vivian, who should've been a social pariah, was instead flourishing like some golden princess.

Natasha's plan had been simple: use Maxwell to ruin Vivian, then hand him over to the authorities. But fate had other ideas—Maxwell got arrested before she could even meet him.

The man before her snorted. "Still playing the rich bitch, huh? The Dawsons were always trash pretending to be royalty. Now that your parents sold their pathetic company, you'll be lucky to afford ramen noodles." He gave her a slow, disgusted once-over. "And look at you—used goods. Not even a drunk would pay for this."

He wiped imaginary dust off his sleeve. "Laugh now, sweetheart. Soon you'll be begging for pocket change."

His smirk widened. "Hard to believe you share DNA with Vivian Hartley. She's a fucking angel while you're—"

Natasha's vision went red. "Vivian? An angel?" She let out a shrill laugh. "Look at your face—it's like a train wreck even plastic surgery can't fix. You make Voldemort look handsome!"

The injustice of it all boiled her blood. Why was Vivian always the blessed one? Why did even this walking garbage dare insult her?

Blind with rage, Natasha swung her designer purse like a weapon. The metal clasp sliced across his cheek, drawing blood.

For a heartbeat, he seemed stunned. Then, with terrifying calm, he touched the wound, examined the crimson on his fingers, and licked it clean. The transformation from lecher to predator happened in an instant.

He lunged through the car window, yanking Natasha's hair so hard she saw stars. Before she could scream, he'd bound her wrists with rope from his glove compartment.

"You'll regret this!" Natasha gasped, her bravado cracking. "My parents know I'm here! The police will—"

He backhanded her across the mouth. "Shut up, princess." The rope bit into her flesh as he shoved her into the trunk. "Time for your reality check."