It was almost four years ago when that dreadful event happened.
Primrose could still remember the strong scent of alcohol congesting the bar Wilson sent her into. She was a fan of partying all night, but not in this kind of place.
At first glance, she already knew that it was an exclusive place where rich elites would gamble and do nasty things. Poker tables. Ear-piercing music. Waves of laughter echoing through the high ceilings. It was an agitating sight to hear and see.
She sat alone in a room and dusted the dress she was wearing. The smoke outside was too much, so she had to ask the personnel abruptly for a private room. Why would her potential marriage partner arrange a first date in this kind of place? Did her father set her up with some weirdo again?
“Just hold it in,” the l
