Treat me well

The 22nd birthday party of the five-star hotel in New York was coming to an end. Damien's steps were a little messy, and his face was even redder than before, like blush, when the elevator was in the 8th floor. Victoria held Damien's hand and squeezed it tightly, she couldn't let Damien get into Reagan's bed. She'd thought about it and made this decision.

She led Damien to the innermost part of the corridor to the last room, where the waiter had just brought the food and hadn't yet closed the door.

"Hello, that man in there's my friend. I'll go in and you don't have to lock the door." said Victoria. The waiter didn't doubt that she knew the man and drove the food cart away.

Victoria came along the doorway and saw a tall figure in the room wearing the hotel's nightgown. It looked as if the person had just taken a bath. Suddenly Damien pulled her out of the door crack with a jerk and quickly closed the door.

Victoria raised her head and glanced at the camera. Fortunately, the room they were in is in a dead corner. The camera can't take pictures. After thirty minutes, she left the room, pulled her long wavy hair aside and went to another suite as if nothing had happened.

When Damien came out of the room, he turned around and saw a woman. She was shivering and had cold eyes, but the discomfort didn't make her think much. She rose from the floor and staggered to the man. She needed something badly now. She didn't know what she needed.

"Get out of here!" Damien yelled at her.

When the distance between them was less than ten feet, he saw the woman's face clearly. Her long black hair had been combed by professional stylists into beautiful and intricate long braids, elegant and classy. The white dress she wore showed off all her assets, a beautiful butterfly clavicle, plump to a good figure. The bottom of the dress ran in a curve from top to bottom, and her long white legs stood out on the right side. The corners of her skirt were decorated with shiny small diamonds. She wore 8 cm high red stiletto sandals, and he could see that she was a cheerful, open and sincere lady.

He was still staring at her without giving another command when she was carried away by two men. Damien saw her narrow face with abnormal blush and couldn't help but smile at the crazy lady. Then he asked her to leave and walked towards her.

"I feel a little sick. Can I've some cold water?" said Zara, struggling with the high-heeled shoes on her right foot, which she'd have preferred to throw away.

Finally, she put her right arm on Damien's neck and gently moved her left hand. The high-heeled shoe was successfully thrown off by her. Her faint perfume smelled like the fragrance of medium white lotus and small lily of the valley; like an internationally known brand delight. All over her body, she looked so gorgeous and noble.

Without hesitation, she put her slender wrist around Damien's neck and walked to the door. However, her legs were so soft that she couldn't support her body. Then she knelt down on the white carpet while holding Damien's hand.

Zara, the woman holding Damien's hand, had no patience. She vigorously shook off her hand, ready to call the hotel's front desk. She held onto him to get up and gently wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

"I'm not feeling well. Help me." Zara's soft, pleading voice had a special flavor in the dark night.

She picked up the microphone on the wall and spoke with it before shoving it into his hand. Damien looked at her with a sharp look, "Did someone send you here? Who told you I arrived in New York today and who're you?"