I had been sexually assaulted.

Just as I was about to wash away the filth clinging to my body, I saw a flood of scrolling comments:

[What insane luck does the female lead have? She just goes to sleep and ends up having sex with a hot guy.]

[I just saw the male lead’s eight-pack abs. Damn it, she’s got it so good. Let me take her place for a couple of episodes.]

[Hehe, next the female lead is going to run away pregnant. A little baby is about to be born.]

[Call the police. Go to someone you trust. Whatever you do, don’t wash away the evidence.]

My gaze lingered on the last comment.

After a long silence, I reached out and turned off the shower.

I sat blankly on the couch, not saying a word, sunlight streaming through the window onto my body.

It was clearly a bright day, yet I felt a piercing cold, shivers running through me one after another as the memories I refused to recall surged back all at once.

Bang!

The ceramic cup slipped from my hand and shattered into pieces on the floor.

I could no longer control my emotions. I crouched down and burst into tears.

The half-length mirror in the house reflected what I looked like now—my neck covered in dense marks, a large split at the corner of my lips, my hair hanging down in a mess, utterly disheveled.

I felt filthy.

That was the only thought left in my mind.

“I’m filthy, I’m filthy, I’m filthy.

“Right… If I wash it off, I won’t be filthy anymore. If I wash clean, it’ll be fine.”

Ignoring the pain in my body, I rushed to my wardrobe.

Skipping past the dresses, I picked out a few long-sleeved tops and long pants.

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap.

The sound of water splashing against the floor echoed softly.

Those painful memories surged toward me again, and the overwhelming anguish made me wrap my arms around myself.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw a flood of scrolling comments.

[What kind of insane luck does the female lead have, ending up in bed with the nation’s heartthrob?]

[I just saw the male lead’s eight-pack abs. Damn it, she’s got it so good. Let me take her place for a couple of episodes.]

[Hehe, next the female lead is going to run away pregnant. A little baby is about to be born.]

I froze in place, too startled by the sudden scene to say anything.

Male lead, female lead… what was all this?

Before I could process it, one glaring, out-of-place comment forced its way into my sight:

[Call the police. Go to someone you trust. Whatever you do, don’t wash away the evidence.]

I repeated it under my breath, but my grandmother always said people don’t gossip about you unless you’ve given them a reason.

Whenever I wore a dress, she would lash out at me with harsh words.

I began to carefully recall that day.

It was raining outside, heavy drops pounding against the window, the trees rustling loudly in the wind. I was wearing a nightgown, with my favorite stuffed toy beside me.

It had clearly been such a beautiful day.

It must have been because I wore that nightgown.

It had to be the dress.

I tested the water temperature.

As long as I washed away this filth, no one would know me, and I could start over.

I couldn’t let anyone find out about this.

This comment was different from the others; it didn’t celebrate what had happened to me.

Very quickly, the person who posted it was attacked by the rest.

[What’s wrong with you? Isn’t this just something between a couple?]

[But the female lead and male lead don’t even know each other yet, and he went to the wrong hotel room and forced himself on her—that’s rape, isn’t it?]

[So what? They’re the official couple. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Maybe she enjoyed the experience.]

I took two steps back.

No, I didn’t want this.

No girl would want to be with a stranger like that.

No matter how talented or wealthy he was.

To me, he was just a stranger.

[The hymen doesn’t truly exist the way people think. Its proper name is the vaginal membrane. It isn’t a sealed layer—it already has openings to allow menstrual flow.

[Some girls’ membranes can change or tear from activities like squatting or dancing. Countless men take pride in being someone’s “first,” setting examples for others, while countless women are bound and judged because of this thin layer.]

…

The comments descended into chaos, but that bold, black-highlighted comment ignored the insults and posted another line.

[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.”

Even as slow as I was, I realized something was off.

I stood up and saw that the paper was completely blank, spotless as if it had never been used.

Instinctively, I tried to leave, but the next second I collided with a solid chest.

That familiar sense of pressure returned.

All the color drained from my face, and I didn’t dare look up at the person in front of me.

The lawyer’s voice came from behind.

[Mr. Cooper, you’re here.]

I looked up at the lawyer in disbelief. He was now bowing slightly toward Winson, his face full of flattery.

The comments erupted in cheers.

[Haha, didn’t expect that, huh? Your girl tried to send you to the police.]

[Wow, first meeting at a law firm. Real romantic, genius.]

[He’s a billionaire heir and she’s still complaining? Does she not know how good she has it?]

[I remember he fell in love with her at first sight, right? The novel described it so vividly. Winson couldn’t understand himself; he’d been with different women since he was fifteen, yet he couldn’t forget that woman from six years ago.

[The memory of her had sunk into his bones, making him think of her day and night. I love a reformed playboy arc.]

[Oh wow, not a virgin and still acting like the perfect male lead? Please.]

[This is realistic romance. You wouldn’t understand adult relationships.]

Seeing that comment made me feel sick, like I’d swallowed something rotten.

The author gave the male lead unrealistic power and status yet forced reality into something as personal as this.

I wanted to leave.

I admitted that I was a coward. I didn’t have the courage to stand against him.

Right now, I just wanted to escape.

But the next second, a hand grabbed my wrist tightly.

A low, husky voice sounded beside my ear.

“Running away the moment you see me, Miss Shaw?”

His warm breath brushed against my ear, and the faint scent of cold pine from his body drifted straight into my senses.

There was no doubt that Winson, as the male lead, possessed a face that could be called the most handsome in the world.

His features looked sculpted, sharp and clean-cut. His brows were thick and sharply angled, the faint lift at the ends giving him an air of arrogance and authority.

A face that made countless girls scream had become my nightmare.

How disgusting.

I tried to pull away, but his grip was far too strong.

His gaze never left me, like a damp, lurking serpent studying its prey. That sticky attention made my skin crawl.

I regretted it.

I didn’t regret reporting him; I regret not preparing myself for what would come after.

There was a noise at the door. It was my father.

Sweat still clung to his forehead, clearly having rushed all the way here.

The moment I saw him, my tears fell.

Finally, someone was here to stand up for me.

Winson’s voice turned cold and sinister.

“Do you think your father will stand up for you?”

I straightened my back and met his eyes without flinching.

“I’m his daughter.”

I was the only child in my family. Ever since my mother disappeared, all of my father’s love had been given to me.

When I was little, I once mumbled in my sleep that I wanted peaches. In the middle of the night, he went to several fruit shops just to find the best ones.

Every time I made a mistake, he would smile and pat my head.

“It’s alright. Whatever our Risa does is right.”

I thought, just like before, I would be met with a warm embrace, but instead, a sharp slap landed across my face.

The force of it sent me crashing to the ground.

What followed was a furious roar.

“You’ve got some nerve bringing this up. Do you even realize what you’ve done to this family? If you’re not ashamed, I am.”

Without sparing me another glance, he turned to Winson, his tone instantly turning flattering.

“Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Cooper. Risa’s just being foolish. Honestly, it’s her luck that you’ve taken an interest in her.”