The Girl Who Survived the Night

[It wasn’t the dress, and it definitely wasn’t your fault. Listen to me, Nia. Sperm can survive in the female body for up to 24 hours.

[Go to the police station right now and have the suspect’s DNA collected. You don’t just represent yourself; you represent countless other girls. You don’t need to be afraid. I’m here, Nia.]

Nia. That was the nickname my mother and my grandmother gave me.

My eyes reddened. It had been a long time since anyone had called me that so gently.

But that one word steadied me. I began to quietly process everything the comments had told me.

So, I was the female lead in a runaway pregnancy story.

After that night, I would get pregnant, drop out of school, and leave the city I had lived in for nineteen years without telling anyone.

Six years later, I would return with a pair of genius twins.

In the end, through my son and daughter’s matchmaking, I would meet Winson Cooper, grow close to him, and eventually marry him.

My son would be a genius hacker, my daughter a prodigy painter.

My husband would be the nation’s heartthrob.

My life would look glamorous, flawless, nothing to complain about.

Draped in luxury, successful children—this was the kind of life countless people envied.

But I didn’t want it.

I, Risa Shaw, didn’t want it.

I should have been standing on a grand stage, holding the violin I loved most, shining in the world of music, not dropping out and ending up confined to a life of housewife duties.

I didn’t want to become the kind of person my children would see as someone who could only recite a single line of poetry.

I was Risa Shaw, not Mrs. Cooper.

I silently mouthed the words to that comment, then grabbed my bag from the coffee table and called a ride.

[What was the female lead mouthing just now? Can anyone explain?]

[It looked like she said “thank you”… Weird, who was she thanking?]

The taxi quickly took me to the police station. I thanked the driver softly, then turned and ran inside, not noticing the driver making a phone call behind me.

The comments surged again at the sight of the station:

[What the hell is she doing? She actually went to the police station?!]

[Is she trying to send the male lead to jail? What about the ship I’m rooting for? What about the plot?!]

I ignored their shock.

As long as I reported it, that scumbag could be sent to prison.

An officer handed me a cup of hot tea.

My heart eased slightly as I told them everything that had happened, from beginning to end.

The officer taking my statement was thorough and serious.

Noticing my unease, the female officer gently consoled me.

Even if Winson was the male lead, no matter how powerful he was, he couldn’t be above the law.

When I walked out of the police station, I felt a wave of relief.

When I arrived at the law firm, I recounted everything all over again.

By the time I finished, I was drenched in sweat, my whole body trembling uncontrollably.

That night, I had cried and begged him to let me go.

But he ignored me completely, even tying my hands before carrying out his violence.

The man was Winson Cooper.

He was wealthy, powerful, and widely known for his striking looks, even labeled online as a “nation’s heartthrob.”

“What was the exact time?”

“Last night, eleven.”

The lawyer across from me asked questions lazily, the pen in his hand spinning countless times between his fingers.

“Why were you traveling alone?”

“I had a fight with my father. I wanted to clear my head.”

“So, you’re saying you were molested?”

“Not molested. It was rape.”

My account had been so clear; how could it be reduced to mere harassment?

I corrected him.

But the lawyer suddenly showed a faint, ambiguous smile.

“It’s all the same, really.”

“Then why didn’t you fight back?”

I raised my voice, defending myself.

“I fought back, but the difference in strength between men and women was just too great.”

The lawyer clearly didn’t believe me and continued.

“That’s Winson Cooper we’re talking about. The room you booked just happened to be the one he regularly stays in—who’s to say you didn’t look into it beforehand, hoping to latch onto someone powerful?”

What was this?

Victim blaming?

“I’m sorry, miss. We’re just following procedure, so I have to ask everything in detail.”