Chapter 4: Guilt, Danger, and a Blurred Line

It was only after he walked away that my senses returned.

His words echoed in my head all the way home. So, he’d heard me that night at the bar.

Feeling guilty, I had the housekeeper keep an eye on him for a few days. I bit my lip, stomach twisting. Was I any better than the people who used him?

Turns out, he was still working at that bar. The housekeeper sent me photos—Marcus in a black dress shirt, two buttons undone, the lines of his neck and collarbone dangerously visible.

The club lights caught on his skin, outlining sharp shadows. Strangely, no one ever picked him.

Sigh—

I regretted my earlier, offhand judgment about whether a hardworking student was “sketchy” or not. He was just trying to get by.

That day, I was getting a massage at the spa when the housekeeper called: Marcus was in trouble.

When I heard he’d been drugged, I didn’t even change out of my robe. I leapt in my car, flip-flops smacking the pedals as I sped downtown, not caring about the rules. The bar’s neon lights flickered as I rushed inside, the sticky floor clinging to my feet.

The housekeeper pointed to a private room, looking anxious. Her lips were pressed tight, as if she wanted to say more but didn’t dare. I opened the door and froze.

Marcus’s black shirt was undone, his abs bare above his waist.

My brow twitched.

His face was flushed, humiliated but trying to keep his cool.

"Get out."

I walked over and patted his face, calling, "Marcus."

"Don’t touch me," he said, eyes dark, clearly affected.

"You should go."

But he grabbed my shoulder, refusing to let me leave.

When my hand brushed his bare chest, he let out a low groan, completely unguarded.

Poor kid, so pitiful—

A wave of worry, guilt, and something more tangled inside me. I told myself I was just helping—but in that moment, the lines between right and wrong blurred into static.