The Perfect Lover

I am the inexpensive lover behind a wealthy man. At a company-organized drinking party, Victor picked me up. To survive, I became his lover. A lover who talks money, not feelings. Eight years ago, just after I turned eighteen, I was noticed by an entertainment company. Out of financial desperation and naivety, I blindly signed a contract. However, it wasn't long before the company said they would get me a supporting role in a major production script and sent me to a party with investors. Three or four pot-bellied middle-aged men, possibly older than my parents' second child, yet they made me call them brothers and repeatedly groped my waist and legs during the event. I knew I was already in a quagmire, my stomach churned with intense discomfort, urging me to escape. However, the debts at home and my mother's illness reminded me that I could only continue to walk into the mire. Feigning drunkenness and the urge to vomit, I suppressed the urge to escape, went to the bathroom, and cried to sort out my emotions. Crying left my mind foggy, and on my way back to the private room, I accidentally bumped into someone. Looking up, I saw a man in a dark gray suit, slightly lowering his head to look at me, his dark eyes cold and sharp, exuding authority without anger. The alcohol in me sobered up instantly, I stepped back, my legs went weak, and I fell to the ground, trying to apologize, but couldn't make a sound. After being gone too long, my agent came looking for me, initially storming over to scold me, but upon seeing Victor, all that remained was a respectful and fearful apology. I didn't know Victor at the time, but I knew that anyone who could dine in such a private room and make my agent so reverent must be either rich or noble. I shamelessly thought, if I am to be kept, I might as well choose a handsome benefactor. The disgust from the greasy middle-aged man's touch on my waist prompted me to make the most impulsive decision of my life. I hardened my resolve, trying to make my voice sound less shaky, and asked him, "Sir, do you need a lover?" My agent was stunned by my words, and even more fearfully apologized to Victor. Victor's expression didn't change much, as if he was already accustomed to such absurdities. He just stood there, looking down at me as if I were a fish on a cutting board. Under his emotionless gaze, I felt like a naked, undignified toy, at his mercy. But I knew more clearly that the first moment he saw my face, his expression faltered slightly. Though it was only for a brief moment, I caught it with my sharp eyes. I knew my looks were a natural advantage, so I didn't avoid his gaze, meeting his gaze with tear-reddened eyes, gritting my teeth. Even though those few seconds exhausted the greatest courage of my life. I was relieved he didn't hold out for a few more seconds, just sneered and let me come over. My agent helped me up from the ground, and I walked towards him, trembling. Those were likely the hardest steps I've ever taken in my life. Because, in just those few seconds, I realized clearly that I wasn't escaping the mire, but walking into another, more brutal abyss. The next day, my former company collapsed, and Victor had me switch to a new agency, securing the leading role in that production. I realized I had secured a remarkable backer. But I didn't dare to be arrogant because of it. I knew well that I was just a canary Victor picked up when he was in a good mood, fortunate to receive his favor due to my looks. Once his interest waned, he would release me—or rather, discard me. There were countless women vying for Victor's attention, and some, like me, boldly recommended themselves to him. Once, even a well-known actress in the entertainment circle, wearing a bathrobe, knocked on his door in the middle of the night. How did I know? Because I was the one who opened the door. That actress was a senior in the industry, and I didn't dare provoke her. She was very arrogant towards me, first stunned to see me, then mocking me both openly and subtly, implying that I wasn't as pretty as her, yet still dreamed of rising to prominence. At that time, outsiders only knew I had a significant backer, but they were unaware that the backer was Victor. Victor doesn't like making public appearances. When the actress mocked me, I just lowered my gaze and endured it. I've been insulted countless times; a few more won't hurt me. However, Victor emerged from the back room, and under the actress's suddenly admiring and fawning gaze, he raised a glass of red wine above her head and slowly poured it down. The actress looked incredulous, and even before I pushed her out, she was still shocked and pitifully calling "Mr. Victor." That night, Victor seized my neck and pinned me to the wall. When I thought he was truly going to strangle me, he finally loosened his grip a bit, his thumb gently stroking my carotid artery, and warned me dangerously with narrowed eyes, "I don't need weak and useless women." Since then, my arrogant and domineering temper became infamous in the circle, and no one dared to provoke me anymore. Only when I'm with Victor do I revert to being a gentle and obedient cat. I'm actually curious why Victor hasn't kicked me out like he did with other women. His friend Derek gave me an answer. Derek has told me more than once, "You have a good face." I also think I have a good face, not only beautiful but just beautiful enough to match Victor's aesthetic. Heaven has been kind, no doubt, by feeding me well. However, dining with Victor always leaves me with indigestion. Eating while nervous can easily lead to stomach problems. Moreover, the food Victor feeds me isn't as soft as one might imagine. Victor enjoys taking me bungee jumping. More precisely, he enjoys watching me bungee jump. He's quite the p*****t. The first time he took me to the bungee platform, Victor instructed me, "Don't make a sound." With the rope tied to my legs, I stood at the edge of the bungee platform, and Victor personally pushed me off. When he pushed me, he remained expressionless, just like the first time we met, making me feel as if he truly wanted to kill me. My legs trembled as I was helped into Victor's car by the staff, my heart rate possibly reaching an all-time high. Extreme sports let you release stress by screaming, but I kept my teeth clenched the whole time, suppressing this instinctive nature. I fought back the urge to cry, looking at Victor with red eyes. Victor suddenly grabbed my chin and kissed me, prying open my teeth, biting my tongue, the taste of blood filling my nostrils, and I could only close my eyes, forced to endure his passionate and domineering kiss. As he entered me, he hoarsely and tenderly whispered my name, "Yuk." Inwardly, I silently cursed him as a p*****t. Perhaps one day, when there's no safety rope on my legs, he will still push me down with his own hands to satisfy his perverse pleasure. And just like every time before, I can't cry, can't laugh, and definitely can't scream. What awaits me won't be a passionate kiss, but a cold death. Fortunately, I've survived until now. Heaven granted me beauty but fairly took away my intelligence. Fans have always been unhappy with the company's portrayal of me as a dumb beauty. Whenever I see such comments, I actually want to defend the company; I'm not pretending to be dumb for the image, I'm genuinely dumb. I've always been at the bottom of exams from childhood to adulthood, not because I didn't try, but because I truly couldn't learn. I often can't remember many things, even suspecting I have amnesia. Before meeting Victor, I secretly went to the hospital behind the company's back, and the doctor tactfully told me that my condition had nothing to do with amnesia. It's simply poor memory. Just plain dumb. And because I've been dumb from a young age, I've always had a strong sense of self-awareness. Self-awareness is my second greatest asset in gaining Victor's favor. The first advantage, of course, is my good face. Victor is never short of women around him, even though he's never been involved in any scandals. When he doesn't visit me, I hear from his friend Derek about which young lady he's recently fancied. "Young lady" is Derek's exact words. The first time I heard this, I almost couldn't maintain my composure and subtly hinted to Derek that he was describing Victor like a tyrant who forcibly seizes women. Derek, however, retorted, "Isn't he?" I was taken aback by his matter-of-fact response and resisted the urge to nod in agreement. I lowered my head and continued to prepare tea for him. Before I met Victor, I was clueless about tea art. I specifically learned it for his sake. After an intimate encounter, perhaps feeling whimsical, he didn't leave immediately upon waking but sat by the window, sipping tea. It was April, and the rain drizzled continuously. The sky seemed to be covered with a layer of gray gauze, dim and obscure, while outside, the rain pattered on the leaves. The courtyard trees, washed by the rain, were a rich emerald green. He wore a black, long-sleeved silk nightgown, which added elegance to his already distinguished presence. Holding a teacup, he gently rotated his wrist a few times, slowly pouring the warming water into the waste bowl. His movements were slow, his eyes slightly lowered, gaze fixed on the teacup, as if contemplating something beyond it. Otherwise, his expression wouldn't have seemed so sorrowful. It was the first time I saw an expression on his face that wasn't indifference. But it lasted only a few brief seconds. Victor quickly noticed I was awake, his gaze shifting to me, as sharp and indifferent as ever. "Come over here."