The Ruthless Game

chapter 4:The bitter feast

​I thought retreating behind the heavy black door would give me a moment of peace, but in this house, peace was an illusion.

​A shadow fell across the gap beneath my door, followed by a heavy, authoritative knock. Mo Yan didn't open it this time, but his voice cut through the thick wood effortlessly.

​"Come down and eat dinner at seven," he commanded, his tone completely flat and unyielding. "Or you will deeply regret not coming."

​The threat hung in the air long after his footsteps faded away. I looked at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was already late. Not wanting to find out what "regret" meant in his vocabulary, I quickly smoothed down my hair, took a deep, steadying breath, and made my way back down to the grand dining room.

​The scale of the room was intimidating, but nothing was more terrifying than the man sitting at the far end of the long mahogany table. Mo Yan sat directly across from my designated seat, looking perfectly composed, a glass of dark wine resting near his hand.

​"Sit down," he ordered, his eyes locking onto me the moment I stepped inside. "I have something to discuss with you."

​I sat down nervously, the leather of the chair feeling stiff beneath me. I gripped my hands tightly in my lap to hide their shaking. "What... what is it?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

​Mo Yan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. The dark ink of his tattoos peeked out from his rolled sleeves, a constant reminder of the danger he represented.

​"I want you to respect one thing, Song Ge," he replied, his voice dropping into a cold, transactional murmur. "This is my territory. And you? You are just a little toy in it. A temporary amusement to be thrown away after the interest is gone. Do not confuse a signed marriage certificate with actual worth."

​The cruelty of his words stung, but I forced myself to swallow the hurt. I didn't want to fight him anymore tonight. My energy was completely drained. I silently nodded my head, keeping my eyes glued to the table. "Ok," I murmured softly.

​Silence stretched across the room as the servants placed plates of heavy, rich food in front of us. My stomach was in tight knots from the anxiety of the boardroom, the blood-stained paper, and his constant threats. I could barely swallow a single bite. After pushing the food around with my fork and eating only a tiny portion, I placed my napkin down. "I want to go sleep now."

​Mo Yan's eyes narrowed as he looked at the nearly full plate in front of me. The air in the room instantly grew heavy again.

​"Sit," he ordered, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "And eat the whole thing on your plate."

​"I'm really full," I defended myself, looking up at him with a tired, strained expression. "I can't eat anymore. My stomach hurts."

​Mo Yan didn't care. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze icy and unmovable. "Finish it. If you do not complete your plate right now, there will be no food provided for you tomorrow. Consider this your final warning."

​Panic flared in my chest. I couldn't afford to starve in a prison like this. Trembling, I pulled the plate back toward me. I forced myself to pick up the fork and started shoving the heavy food into my mouth, barely chewing as I forced it down my throat. My stomach screamed in protest, twisting violently with every bite, but I kept going out of pure fear, overstuffing myself just to satisfy his ridiculous rule.

​Just one more bite, I told myself. Just swallow it.

​A sudden, violent wave of nausea hit me like a physical blow. Before I could even raise a hand to cover my mouth or turn away, my stomach completely revolted.

​Splat.

​Time seemed to stop dead in its tracks.

​The dead silence of the dining hall was deafening. I gasped, my eyes widening in pure, unadulterated horror as I looked across the table.

​There, dripping directly down the front of Mo Yan's pristine, expensive designer shirt and onto his hands, was the dinner I had just forced myself to swallow.

​The surrounding guards looked like they had just witnessed a murder. Mo Yan sat frozen, his jaw clenched so tightly the veins in his neck were bulging. He slowly looked down at his ruined shirt, then slowly, very slowly raised his terrifying, dark gaze back up to meet mine.

​I had officially done the unthinkable.