Celine was terrified. Like any girl facing such a violation, she couldn't keep calm—she was shaking uncontrollably. “Let me go! Get off me! Ah!” she screamed, her voice raw with desperation as she struggled to think of a way to fight back.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a thunderous bang, kicked in with enough force to rattle the walls. Adam stormed into the room, his movements sharp and deliberate. Without hesitation, he seized Elijah and tore him off Celine. Then, Adam's fist came crashing down. Elijah hit the floor, but Adam didn't stop. A second punch landed, then a third, each one harder than the last. By the time Adam stepped back, Elijah's face was a mask of blood.

“Adam,” Celine’s voice trembled as she called his name.

Adam dropped Elijah and turned toward her. She had sat up on the bed, but her entire body quaked with fear. A vivid red handprint marred her right cheek, and the swollen skin was a stark contrast against her pale complexion. Her dress was bunched up high, exposing her leg, mottled with angry red marks where Elijah had grabbed her. She looked like someone who had been ruthlessly violated.

The image of Elijah on top of her, the scene he’d walked in on moments ago, flashed across Adam’s mind, and his veins throbbed with rage. He took a deep breath, his voice low as he said, “Did he touch you?”

Celine’s wide, tear-filled eyes turned to him. “No, he didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Let me see,” Adam demanded, his tone sharp.

He felt the weight in his chest ease slightly when Celine said Elijah hadn't touched her, but the anger inside him still burned hot. His fists curled, itching to land a few more punches on Elijah.

“Adam,” she pleaded, “I just want to leave. Take me away from here.”

But before he could move, Celine wrapped her arms tightly around him. “Adam, stop. Please, I just want to leave.” Elijah lay sprawled on the carpet, his face smeared with blood, his dull, unfocused eyes staring into nothingness. If Adam didn’t stop now, something irreversible would happen.

With a sharp inhale, Adam forced himself to hold back. He took off his black coat and carefully draped it over Celine, wrapping her completely in its protective weight. Then, without a word, he scooped her into his arms and carried her out.

Half an hour later, the sleek Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled into the driveway of Westwood Villa. Adam stepped out, still cradling Celine, and strode directly to the master bedroom. Inside the en suite bathroom, he gently placed her in the spacious bathtub. Reaching over, he turned on the hot water, letting it flow into the tub.

Celine’s body was icy cold, her pale skin drained of color. It wasn’t until the warm water began to wrap around her like a soothing balm that a faint flush returned.

Adam’s deep, calming voice broke the silence. “You put on makeup?”

Celine, still slightly damp, looked up at him. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal his strong forearms and the gleam of an expensive watch; his tailored black trousers were still immaculate. The soft, lamplight glow of the bathroom lighting cast him in a striking contrast, every inch of him exuding the quiet power of a man who was always in control. But his eyes told a different story. They burned with restrained anger and a trace of mockery. “Lipstick, too?”

Celine opened her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper. “I…”

Adam’s hands dropped to his hips as he stared at her, frustration sharpening his words like a blade. “I was giving a lecture today. Every single student was striving to be their best. Why did you dress up like this? Who do you think Elijah would target if not you?”

Celine stayed silent. Her mind was still racing, her heart shaken by the weight of what had just happened. As her thoughts settled, a surge of injustice welled within her. Her eyes reddened, welling until they spilled over, large droplets streaming down her cheeks.

Adam froze, his tall frame rigid. “Hey, Celine. Why are you crying? Don’t think you can shed a few tears and expect this to be over.” Her tears fell, heedless of his words.