Chapter 4

Just as Derek Hill spread his large hands over my thighs, I suddenly realized something was wrong.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

But the events of the past few days felt strange, as if some unseen force was pushing everything forward.

I immediately called for a stop, trying to get Sophia to pause.

But Sophia ignored me, her hands gripping my arms tightly as she pinned me down with her body, her knee pressing against my thigh to keep me from closing my legs.

"Hey! Stop! Derek, get your hands off me! If you don’t stop, I’m calling the police!"

"Sophia, get off me!"

I shouted, but Sophia’s sobs drowned out my voice. I could barely hear myself.

Derek didn’t care, and with Sophia holding me down, I was trapped.

Just as his fingers were about to brush against my most intimate place—

"Sweetheart! Your darling hubby is here—!"

My husband’s booming, cheerful voice rang out from beside us, startling all three of us in the room.

Sophia flinched violently.

The charged atmosphere shattered instantly.

I quickly pushed Sophia away and grabbed my phone. This was the custom ringtone my goofy husband had recorded for his calls—wherever I went, whenever he called, everyone around could hear his silly but affectionate greeting.

I used to find it sweet. Today, it saved me.

I scrambled up and answered the call.

But as I glanced down, I saw—

Under the pale moonlight, Sophia’s smooth skin was marred with bruises, dark and mottled.

My expression hardened. My husband’s cheerful voice came through the phone:

"Heard you missed me?"

"Who told you that?"

"Doesn’t matter who told me. If you miss me, I’ll come pick you up right now?"

His voice was smug. The two weeks I’d been away had probably felt like a vacation to him. Now that he’d had his fun, he remembered me?

I opened my mouth to agree, but Sophia shrank against me fearfully.

I looked up and saw Derek still standing nearby.

That thing of his was still swaying, his gaze fixed on Sophia’s pert backside.

In the moonlight, Sophia’s most intimate area wasn’t just flushed—it was swollen. Her body was covered in bruises, especially in hidden places beneath her clothes.

These weren’t marks left from pleasure or rough play.

They looked like deliberate, malicious abuse.

I shot Derek a sharp glare and told him to get out.

But he hesitated, lifting his foot as if to step closer again.

I’d trained in ballet for over a decade and had spent years as a teacher. My presence wasn’t just for show.

Plus, I was still on the phone with my husband.

Seeing my stern expression, Derek lowered his foot and retreated. Sophia let out a quiet sob.

"Huh? What was that?" My husband heard it too. "Was that crying? Jasmine, are you watching something? I’m coming over right now!"

His playful tone vanished, replaced by concern.

I refused. "No, it’s just Sophia and her boyfriend had a fight. I’m comforting her. It’s late—don’t come over tonight. I’ll text you in the morning."

Then I glanced at Derek, who was still watching us like a predator. "Actually, if you’re not tired, stay awake tonight. Be ready for my call."

Hearing my serious tone, my husband gave a firm "Mm."

Then he added, "I’m already downstairs at your friend’s place. If anything happens, put me on speaker or call me. I’ll be up in seconds."

I was surprised he was already here. That uneasy feeling grew stronger.

But I couldn’t piece it together yet.

Still, knowing he was nearby made me feel safer.

I turned on speakerphone so Derek could hear—my husband was downstairs. If he tried anything else, my husband would storm up immediately.

My husband might not be as muscular as Derek, but he’d been on the university basketball team—six-foot-one and broad-shouldered.

Against Derek, who was maybe five-foot-nine at best, the outcome wasn’t certain.

And in the time it took for a fight, Sophia and I could call the police.

Hearing my husband was downstairs, Derek finally backed off with a resentful glare and retreated to Sophia’s room.