Chapter 3

3.

The weekend arrived, and I stood in front of my closet, realizing I didn't own a single nice dress.

The doorbell rang, and as I expected, it was Foster.

He was wearing a black tailored suit that made him look incredibly powerful and dangerous.

I couldn't stop staring, my heart racing as he handed me a sleek black gift box.

"I got this for you to wear tonight."

I felt guilty. "I can't take this, Dr. Sterling. You're already doing me a huge favor."

"Your birthday is coming up, isn't it? Consider this an early gift."

I looked at him, confused. "How did you know my birthday?"

He chuckled softly. "They say college kids are blissfully ignorant, and they're right."

"You forgot that I have your medical records, Zinnia."

My face turned bright red. Of course.

"Besides, my birthday is the same day as yours. You can get me a gift then, okay?"

He said it with a smile, but there was an underlying tone of command that left no room for argument.

The sense of pressure felt so familiar that I barely processed the fact that we shared a birthday.

"Go change. We're going to be late."

I nodded submissively and went to my room.

The box contained a black strapless dress that was incredibly short and tight.

As I slipped it on, I realized it fit perfectly, hugging every curve as if it had been custom-made for me.

I looked at myself in the mirror, my eyes falling on the small, vivid poppy tattoo on my thigh.

I had gotten it to cover a burn scar, though I couldn't quite remember how I got the scar in the first place.

I walked out into the living room, feeling exposed in the high heels he had also provided.

Foster was sitting on the sofa, his legs crossed, looking like he owned the place.

He patted the spot next to him, and I walked over and sat down without thinking.

It felt so natural, like we had done this a thousand times before.

He suddenly knelt at my feet, and when his hands touched my skin, a bolt of electricity shot through me.

I tried to pull my leg back, whispering, "This... this isn't right."

He didn't seem to hear me. He just glanced up at my thighs and muttered, "So sensitive."

I stood up, but even in four-inch heels, I barely reached his shoulder.

He wrapped his hand around my waist, his grip so tight it felt like he might bruise me.

"Let's go. Your classmates are waiting."

When we got to the venue, the place was empty.

I checked the group chat and found a message saying the party had been rescheduled and someone forgot to tell me.

I felt a lump form in my throat. They were laughing at me.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but Foster turned me toward him.

"Don't cry. It's bad for your eyes."

His voice was stern now, almost like an order.

He led me to a private booth and sat me down.

"We're already here. We might as well enjoy ourselves without them."

He poured me a glass of dark red wine. "Drink with me?"

I took a sip and winced at the bitterness.

Foster let out a low laugh and leaned in, his lips finding mine.

The kiss started gentle but quickly turned into a hungry, desperate clash of teeth and tongues.

My head spun as the familiar heat took over my senses.

He broke the kiss just as I was gasping for air, and his hands moved to the hem of my dress.

I started to cry as he pushed the fabric up, his movements becoming frantic.

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