Served on a Silver Platter

I was the daughter my parents sold off.

Three million dollars was nothing for the Sullivans. But with that amount, they bought my chastity and the last shred of my dignity.

From that moment on, I became the disgrace loathed by all. Everyone said I was a festering sore stuck to Peter's otherwise stellar resume. They said I was the one stain that marred his reputation and embarrassed him.

I stumbled out of the hotel in a daze. As I made my way around the building, passersby turned to look at me with eyes full of disdain.

From the glass window, I saw my reflection. I was soaked in filth and my clothes were ragged, like a beggar's. I looked completely out of place against the glittering luxury of the hotel behind me.

By the time I made it back home, it was well past midnight.

No matter how many times I punched in the code at the door, I couldn't get it. Peter always changed the passcode whenever he brought a new woman home for the night.

After the umpteenth failed attempt, something in me snapped.

I started pounding on the door and shouting, "Peter Sullivan! Open the door!"

Maybe someone inside finally got tired of the noise. The door swung open at last.

Peter stood there, shirtless, with annoyance written all over his face. When he saw the wreck I had become, the disgust in his eyes was blatant.

"Riley, you know the rules. If you keep pulling stunts like this, next time it won't be as simple as locking you out," he sneered.

He was about to slam the door shut again, but I wedged my hand in the gap.

The door crushed my fingers hard. The pain was excruciating, but I didn't cry out.

I just used what little strength I had left and begged, "Let me in."

Maybe, just maybe, he felt a flicker of pity seeing me in such a pathetic state. His brows softened for a second, but then a soft voice came from the bedroom behind him.

"Peter, what's going on?"

That tone… It was almost identical to the way Samantha used to speak.

No wonder Peter let her do whatever she pleased.

I let out a bitter laugh. I was painfully aware of how pitiful and how laughably broken I looked at that moment.

Quietly, I said, "Just let me in to grab my things. I won't come back again."

My fingers were already turning purple and swelling at an alarming rate. But I still held on to the edge of the door, refusing to let go.

Sammy came running out to see what was taking Peter so long.

The moment she laid eyes on me, she recoiled in shock. "Peter, what's a beggar doing outside? Send her away right now! Who knows what kind of diseases she may be carrying? Their lot is so filthy!"

Peter quickly wrapped his arms around her tenderly and protectively. "Don't be scared, Sammy. I'm here. I won't let some filthy tramp get near you. I'll call security right now."

I took in their lovey-dovey act in a daze. It all felt too surreal for me.

Because once upon a time, Peter had held me just like that and promised to protect me.

I wasn't ready to give up completely just yet.

So, I asked him one last question. "If I died, would that make you happy?"

Before he could answer, Sammy responded with a scoff, "Wow, what a delusional freak. What does your death have to do with Peter? Honestly, with how disgusting you are, it doesn't matter when you die. No one would care."

I never got an answer from Peter. All I got were Sammy's insults and the arrival of the residential security guards.

"Where'd this beggar come from? Do you even know whose house this is?"

They moved closer to drag me out.

"Wait." Peter suddenly stopped them. "There's some trash in my room. Take it out with her, would you? That way, she won't keep bothering me."

I had looked back at him with eyes full of desperate hope. But in the end, I was tossed out at the entrance like garbage. Along with me went a few suitcases and a divorce agreement that had been drafted long ago.

Before I was dragged away, Peter had said, "Sign it. Once you're done, have someone drop it at my office. Don't show your face in front of me again. You're filthy."