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Queen's Revenge
墨書 Inktalez
Charles noticed me at the bar right away. I had long hair cascading down my shoulders, wearing a white spaghetti strap dress, sitting on a high stool at the bar, looking so delicate that I seemed like I could break with a single touch.
He was interested in me, and I felt the same way about him. He liked girls who appeared weak and helpless, but in reality, I was incredibly strong, loved excitement, and enjoyed... dominating men.
I looked like a flirtatious girl, but I was actually quite selective. He only saw my charming exterior and confidently believed he could win my heart within three days. I was drinking alone, having just ditched two boyfriends because they fought for me.
I didn't like obedient men; I preferred bad boys. They had rich histories and were much more interesting in bed. I was on the lookout for prey in the bar, hoping to spot a man who could pique my interest.
Charles walked over to me; he was handsome, wealthy, and suave, presenting himself as a gentle gentleman, but I saw through his facade immediately. There was suppressed madness and desire in his eyes.
"Are you here alone?" he asked as he sat down beside me, eagerly offering to buy me a drink. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Sure," I smiled, "but I can't handle strong drinks; I'll get drunk."
A glimmer of surprise flashed in Charles's eyes as he waved over the bartender and whispered a few instructions. Soon enough, the bartender brought over a drink that looked like juice.
I declined it and pointed to his handbag beside him. "Could you pass that to me?"
Another flicker of surprise crossed Charles's eyes.
I took the initiative to show interest, and he thought he could take it further. After handing me the bag, he invited me, "Shall we dance?"
"But I don't know how to dance," I said, blinking innocently at him.
"That's okay; I'll teach you."
He led me to the dance floor and began teaching me how to dance. At first, it was quite proper, but as we continued dancing, his hands found their way to my hips.
I pretended to be shy and lowered my head, but in reality, I was thrilled and trembling all over. Charles kept testing me; sometimes I acted naive, sometimes innocent, sometimes bashful, sometimes indulgent—he became more and more intrigued.
I was like a book that could never be finished reading; every page held surprises.
At midnight, he drove me home. After getting out of the car, he pretended to be a gentleman and asked me, "Do you need help getting upstairs?"
I shook my head. "My home is nearby, just a few steps away."
"Then be careful," he feigned concern.
I waved goodbye to him, watching his car disappear at the end of the street, and the smile on my face vanished in an instant.
I took off my high heels, holding them in my hand, walking barefoot on the cold concrete road.
Charles thought he had found a pure girl, someone he could cherish, but in reality, he encountered a demon from hell.
And he would be the first man I struck.
I walked back to my apartment barefoot, took a shower, opened a bottle of red wine, and sat on the sofa sipping slowly.
I was not interested in Charles; what I liked was his best friend—Vincent.
Vincent Byrne, handsome, wealthy, and strong; he was a boxer who had won the world championship three times.
He had a fiery temper and fierce eyes that scared women away.
Except for me.
I liked him and confessed my feelings, but he rejected me.
He said I was not his type.
I was furious; I was so beautiful and charming—how could he not like me?
I decided to pursue him until he agreed.
The next morning, I put on a pink dress and matching high heels and went to Vincent's gym.
He was training, wearing only a pair of shorts, his strong muscles glistening under the lights.
I trembled with excitement; only a man like him could conquer me.
I walked over and handed him a towel. "You've sweated a lot."
He looked up at me with cold brown eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"Just came to see you," I smiled.
"I don't need you to watch me," he said, refusing the towel and wiping his sweat with his sleeve instead.
I didn't care about his indifference and shoved the towel into his hands. "Don't be so rude; you'll hurt yourself."
He looked down at the towel in his hands, his face showing no expression.
I stepped closer. "How about dinner together tonight? My treat."
He lifted his head and coldly replied, "I don't want to have dinner with you."
"But I do," I grabbed his arm. "Please, have dinner with me; I like you."
He shook off my hand. "Stay away from me."
"No." I hugged him tightly, pressing my face against his chest. "I love you."
He suddenly pushed me away, and I fell to the ground.
"Get lost!" he growled.
I looked at him, tears welling up in my eyes: "Why are you treating me like this? I just like you, is that a crime?"
He remained silent.
"If you really don't like me, then just send me away. I won't bother you again." I lowered my head and sobbed softly.
He turned and walked away, and I stood there with a smug smile on my face.
Vincent didn't dislike me; he was just afraid of hurting me.
He was too strong, and the woman he liked must be very powerful as well.
As for me, although I was strong, I preferred to play the role of the weak and helpless one.
I would slowly seduce him and make him fall in love with me.
I wanted him to be my first man.
I drove to the mall, bought a few sexy outfits, and then went home to change, admiring myself in the mirror.
Charles called, inviting me to dinner, and I agreed.
I wanted Vincent to see that I was with another man; he would be jealous, he would feel possessive.
At seven in the evening, Charles came to pick me up.
He opened the car door and extended his hand; I smiled and placed my hand in his palm as he helped me into the car, carefully fastening my seatbelt for me.
Once the car started moving, he asked, "What do you want to eat?"
"Anything," I said casually while gazing out the window.
"Then let's go for French cuisine."
I nodded without objection.
Charles had reserved a table at an upscale French restaurant, securing the best spot and ordering my favorite dishes along with red wine.
He was gentle and considerate, handsome and charming—the type many girls liked.
Unfortunately, I didn't like him.
What I wanted was excitement and passion, not tenderness.
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