Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 173: The EVE [IV]

⚠️ TW: Reader discretion is advised.

If you are sensitive to themes of abuse or trauma, please proceed with caution or consider skipping this Chapter.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A knock echoed through the room, sharp and sudden, pulling me from the haze that had settled over me like a heavy fog.

I blinked, slow, almost as if I’d forgotten where I was. The hum at the back of my skull hadn’t stopped; in fact, it had only intensified.

My body felt wrong—like a suit of skin I was only vaguely familiar with, too tight, too hot, too... alive.

The knock came again—persistent, rhythmic.

Shaking my head, I pushed myself off the floor, the plush carpet shifting beneath my feet like soft clouds.

Clara must’ve come back for me.

I pulled the door open, expecting to see blonde hair and concern.

But it wasn’t Clara.

It wasn’t even close.

Two men stood there.

Strangers.

Scary.

Smiling.

"Wow. You’re even more beautiful than I expected." The words slid over my skin like oil, slick and wrong.

"Wh-who are you?" I stammered, trying to push the door closed. "I think you have the wrong—"

A black boot slid between the frame and the door.

"Easy, sweetheart," the other said smoothly. His voice was like oil—slick and heavy. "We’re not here to hurt you."

Then he shoved the door open.

I stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the hem of my gown as they stepped inside like they owned the place. One of them turned and locked the door behind him with a click.

The sound echoed.

A cold wave washed over me, dousing the panic into a frozen, brittle terror. My mind, sluggish and thick, struggled to form a coherent thought. Wrong room. Wrong person. This is a mistake. But the way they looked at me, with a hungry, predatory assessment, told me it was no mistake at all.

"Please," I whispered, the word a dry rasp in my throat. "Please, just leave."

The first man, the one with the slicked-back hair and the oily voice, took a step closer. "Now, why would we do that? The party’s just getting started."

My gaze darted around the room, searching for an escape, for a weapon. A heavy lamp on the side table. My own heels. But everything seemed a million miles away, separated from me by an ocean of thick, syrupy air. My limbs felt like lead.

"You’re so soft-looking," the one closest to me said, reaching out like he was about to touch my face.

I slapped his hand away. "Don’t touch me!"

He blinked. Then his smile turned cruel.

"Oh, she’s feisty."

His partner, the one with the slicked-back hair, laughed. It was a low, ugly sound that seemed to crawl into the buzzing space in my head. "I like feisty. Makes it more of a challenge."

My heart hammered. I backed away, mind desperate to escape, but my body betrayed me—frozen. The door was locked tight. Windows sealed shut. Behind me, the bed loomed—a dark beast promising horrors I couldn’t bear.

"You don’t want to do this," I hissed, trying to sound braver than I felt. "I’ll scream for the whole building to —"

The first man held up a small device. A tiny LED glowed, pulsing in time with the humming in my skull. "I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sweetheart. You see, this little gadget... it suppresses your natural screaming reflex. Just a precaution, really. We wouldn’t want you to accidentally wake the neighbors."

My stomach knotted. I hurled a lamp. One flinched—good.

The moment’s pause gave me time to back up again—but I could feel the heat still surging through me, my knees wobbling. The stuff—whatever it was—was still in my system. Slowing me down. Making me weaker. I was burning up. And they knew it.

"Stay the hell away from me," I hissed, voice breaking.

But they kept coming.

I swung the lamp.

It missed.

The taller man caught my wrist mid-swing, his grip brutal. I cried out as pain lanced up my arm.

"Stop fighting," he hissed through gritted teeth, dragging me closer. "You’re only making it worse for yourself."

Panic seized me, every muscle tensing as I struggled against his unyielding grip. But it was like trying to move through quicksand - the more I fought, the more I sank. My breaths came in ragged pants, eyes wide with terror as I stared up at the cruel, scary faces.

They were going to hurt me. Badly. I could see it in their eyes, the way they looked at me like a piece of meat.

"I said let go!" I screamed, trying to jerk my hand free. But his partner grabbed my other arm, dragging me back toward the bed.

"No," I gasped, panic tearing through my throat. "No, get your hands off—!"

I fought like hell even as my body burned differently with the way they are touching me.

I clawed at the air. At them. My nails scraped across one of their faces—hard. I felt the skin tear. Warmth. Saw red streak across the silver edge of his face.

"Fucking bitch!" the one I scratched roared, staggering back with a snarl.

He struck me.

A sharp, open-handed slap across my cheek.

I staggered backward, hand at my face. Panic swallowed me whole.

But even worse—beneath the terror, under my skin and bone and shame—was something else.

A deep, cruel ache for him.

Adrien.

I didnt like this. I hated this. But my body—it didn’t know the difference anymore.

I wanted his voice. His hands. His command.

Adrien, please, where are you. I whispered.

One of them advanced again, grabbing my arms and shoving me back toward the bed. "Let’s tie her before she claws another face."

No. No no no—

I struggled wildly, kicking out at the strangers that had invaded my sanctuary. One of them caught my ankle, yanking my leg and sending me tumbling onto the bed. I scrambled to my feet, heart racing, breath coming in panicked gasps.

"You should be grateful," the first one said, pulling something from his pocket. Rope. "You’re pretty. We were told not to kill you. Just... warm you up."

Told.

Told.

Someone sent them.

My stomach turned. Why isn’t Clara coming yet?

I tried to run but they shoved me back onto the bed. The rope bit into my wrists as they tied me down. My legs kicked uselessly, too foggy, too slow. "Let’s see what she sounds like when she begs."

I thrashed. "No—stop! Please!"

They laughed.

The taller one, the one who’d caught my wrist, leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. "Such a sweet voice." He trailed a finger along the side of my neck, down to my collarbone, making me shudder. "We’ll make you scream for us, little one. But it’ll be a while before you can do anything but moan."

His words sent a chill down my spine. I knew I had to keep fighting, even as fatigue crept in, even as my body grew more heavy and unresponsive.

"Let’s help her relax a bit more."

I watched in horror as they dropped their pants, revealing their exposed, throbbing members that hung between their thighs. I trembled at the sight, my mind reeling with horror and disgust. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me, that I was about to be violated by these monstrous men.

One of them approached me, his eyes filled with lust and malice. "I wanna fuck her mouth so bad," he said, as if I wasn’t even there.

Before I could scream or process any other things, a blade sliced through the fabric of my dress, the cold metal grazing my skin and making me shudder. I struggled futilely as they ripped the garment away, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

Then, one of them roughly poured a sticky, viscous substance directly into my mouth.

I coughed and sputtered, trying to expel the foreign liquid, but it was too late. It slid down my throat, burning and corroding my insides. I could feel it spreading through my veins, infecting my very being with an alien power that twisted and warped my senses.

The world went hazy and distant, sounds muffled and indistinct. My vision tunneled, the two men’s faces blurring into menacing shadows. I felt a wave of lightheadedness wash over me, my head spinning as if I was drunk on cheap liquor. The room tilted and swayed, like a ship on rough seas.

Panic clawed at my chest, but it was futile. My body went limp, all fight draining out of me like water from a broken sieve. I could still see, still hear, but it was as if I was watching the scene unfolding from behind a thick pane of glass, powerless to stop it.

"She’s ready," the one with the knife said, his voice filled with satisfaction.

Then I noticed the other was pleasing himself with his hand. He had a sick, twisted smile on his face as he watched me squirm. "I’ve always wanted to do this to a real beauty," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "It’s going to be so much fun."

The one with the knife leaned down, his breath hot against my neck. I flinched as his tongue traced my collarbone, teeth grazing myskin. Nausea rose in my throat even though my body was reacting to it.

The other one was still touching himself, his movements slow and deliberate, eyes locked on me. "Should we make it hurt?" he mused. "Or should we make it feel so good she can’t tell the difference?"

My stomach lurched.

Then—

A distant sound. A muffled thud from somewhere beyond the door.

The men froze.

I held my breath.

Another thud. Harder. Closer.

And then—

BANG.