Ophelia’s breath hitched, her naked body exposed under the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the heavy curtains.
The vast, shadowed room felt even colder now, the air thick with the scent of leather, smoke, and power.
Her arms flew up instinctively, wrapping tightly around her boobs in a desperate attempt to shield herself.
Heat flooded her cheeks, a burning embarrassment that made her want to sink into the floor.
How could she stand completely bare before a man who had watched her humiliation earlier that same night?
“Are you crazy?” she spat, her voice trembling with a mix of pain, anger, and deep humiliation.
“You want to play with me again after what your friend has done? Nicholas just tore my life apart, and you… You were there, watching like it was entertainment!”
Tristan Bennet simply rolled his eyes, leaning back in the large leather chair behind the desk.
He took another slow drag from his cigarette, puffing out a lazy cloud of smoke that curled toward the ceiling.
True to form, he said nothing at first.
In the seven years Ophelia had known him through Nicholas, Tristan had barely spoken more than a handful of sentences.
He was a silent presence in the background, always observing, never engaging.
His pale grey eyes flicked over her form once more.
He snickered softly, the sound low and mocking.
“Are you going to do what I want, or are you going to argue?”
Ophelia’s hands pressed harder against her chest, her fingers digging into her own skin as fresh waves of embarrassment washed over her.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously.
“I should have known,” she murmured, half to herself, turning toward the door.
“I don’t need your help now. So get the fuck out.”
Tristan laughed at a short, dry sound that echoed in the dark room leaving Ophelia dumbstruck.
He had never laughed for the first time in seven years.
This is her first hearing that the sound comes from him.
“Well, you should be the one to get out. You came in here to meet me.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes, frustration boiling over despite her vulnerability.
She stood there, naked and exposed, every second stretching her dignity thinner.
After all, she was naked already she couldn’t cover the shame anymore, she had gotten to the point of no return.
She finally picked herself up and asked.
“So now that I have stripped, will you help me?”
Tristan paused, then slowly turned his chair fully toward her.
The way his gaze traveled from her head to her toes made her freeze in place.
It wasn’t lustful, it was more like assessing her fully.
His cold eyes lingered on her curves, her trembling legs, and the way her arms barely covered her boobs.
Ophelia felt stripped not just of clothes, but of humanity.
Does he even see me as a person?
The thought made her stomach churn with shame.
“Well… stripping alone doesn’t mean I would help,” he said finally.
He reached across the sleek black desk and stretched an idle file folder toward her.
Ophelia stared at it, hesitation warring with desperation.
“At least… can I wear something?”
“No,” he let out almost immediately, his tone flat and final.
“You bastard!” she grumbled under her breath, her voice thick with humiliated defeat.
Still covering herself as best she could with one arm, she strutted forward on shaky legs and snatched the file from his hand.
The cool air brushed against her bare skin, heightening every sensation of exposure.
She felt stupid, degraded like all her years of achievement meant nothing in this dark room.
“That is a contract you will need to sign if you want to save your father,” Tristan added coolly.
“I am not signing…” Ophelia started, but her phone rang sharply in the tense silence.
She glanced at Tristan, then slowly picked it up, her free hand still trying to shield her nudity.
She had never felt more embarrassed in her life, standing naked in front of Nicholas’s friend while answering a call.
It was her father’s assistant, Marcus Vale.
“Hello?” she answered, her voice strained.
“Miss Cater,” Marcus said urgently, his tone grim.
“More bad news. The prosecutors just added new charges and evidence of deliberate suppression of safety data on those painkillers. Your father’s bail hearing was denied again, and they are pushing for a life sentence. Some victims’ families are holding a press conference tomorrow calling him a monster. The company’s assets are being frozen as we speak. I… I don’t know how much longer we can hold this together.”
Ophelia’s frustration peaked.
The weight of it all, her father already in prison, the escalating scandal, her own ruined night crashed down on her.
“I will call you back,” she muttered and hung up almost immediately, her hand shaking.
At once, she turned back to Tristan.
“Give me a pen.”
He slid one across the desk without a word.
Ophelia snatched it, flipped open the file, and signed instantly on the dotted line, her signature jagged with defeat and urgency.
The embarrassment still burned hot on her skin, but desperation had won.
“Now I have signed it,” she said, stretching the file back to him, still completely bare and filled with urgency.
“Please do what you have to do and save my father tonight.”
Tristan smirked as he collected the signed contract, his expression one of quiet satisfaction.
He glanced at it, then picked up his phone and typed something quickly.
A few minutes later, Ophelia’s phone rang again.
She answered it warily.
It was Marcus again, but this time his voice was stunned.
“Dr. Cater… what did you do? The prosecutors just dropped the new charges. Bail has been granted your father is being released from pre-trial detention within the hour! The judge cited ‘new exculpatory evidence.’ The press conference was canceled. How… how on earth did you manage this?”
Ophelia stood frozen, shocked.
She stared at Tristan, realization dawning.
Out of Nicholas’s circle, Tristan was the most powerful by far.
While Nicholas played at business, Tristan Bennet was a titan in the medical field,he owned Elite Medical Empire, a sprawling conglomerate that controlled major hospital chains, biotech firms, and pharmaceutical research giants across the city.
He could pull strings that influenced regulators, judges, and half the medical industry.
No one, not even Nicholas, could stand against him when he decided to move.
“Thank you,” she whispered to Tristan, her voice hoarse with a confusing mix of gratitude and lingering humiliation.
She bent slightly to reach for her discarded clothes, desperate to cover herself again.
But Tristan lit another cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his cold features as he began smoking once more.
“Read the contract first.”
Ophelia paused, then picked up the file again with trembling hands.
Her eyes scanned the pages, and the first clause made her speechless.
The words blurred for a moment as fresh humiliation crashed over her:
“The undersigned, Dr. Ophelia Cater, agrees to become the secret mistress of Tristan Bennet for an indefinite period. This arrangement shall remain confidential. Under no condition shall the undersigned break these terms, or she will pay compensation of 500 billion in liquidated damages…”
Her mouth went dry.
She looked up at him, the weight of what she had just signed settling like chains around her already shattered dignity.