Chapter 3

In just a few seconds, I stood naked before the mirrors.

Terrified and resigned, I stood in the center of the room, surrounded by reflections of myself.

Ms. Blackwood had "casually" mentioned earlier: "Mr. Chen has many excellent female friends around him, like Ms. Serena, who truly understands how to improve herself and maintain her charm. Mrs. Chen, you need to feel a sense of urgency!"

The humiliation threatened to drown me.

I bit my lip hard, not allowing myself to lose control, just silently weeping, my body trembling slightly.

Bust, waist, hips...

The feel of the measuring tape cinched against my skin was cold and disgusting.

She measured, boldly calling out the data without reservation.

The other woman recorded beside her, occasionally adding a comment or two.

"Breast dimension is acceptable, but lacks firmness; requires specialized training."

"Waistline shows excess fat, needs management."

"Skin is dry, pigmented, severely lacking daily care."

Their voices, along with the images in the mirror, converged into a public, slow vivisection of my soul.

I closed my eyes, but those voices, those cold touches, were inescapable.

Liam.

It was Liam who sent me here.

It was he who condoned, even demanded, all of this.

This realization, more than standing here humiliated, tore at my heart.

The initial assessment was just day one, just the beginning.

The subsequent "courses" were given various names: "Body Sculpting," "Vocal Allure," "Captivating Gaze," "The Art of Service."

All the training pointed to one core objective – how to please a man?

Specifically, how to please Liam.

"Your gaze should be hesitant, alluring, with a hook, understand?"

A male coach roughly lifted my chin with his fingers, his nails scraping painfully against my skin.

"Don't just stare! Dead fish eyes! Start over!"

"Your voice! Squeezed from your throat! Can't you do it? Ever heard a cat purr? Men fall for that!"

Another female instructor forcefully slapped my back, "Stand tall! A颤音! A little breathy! Is that talking? That's a funeral dirge!"

They prodded me, scolded me, negated me.

Every instruction was outrageously specific, every detail magnified into an unforgivable flaw.

---

Day three was "Body Awakening."

Day four, the training room was carpeted. Coach Marcus, one of the men present during the initial assessment, was there.

He was tall, his eyes always carrying a discerning, critical look, as if he were inspecting goods.

"Many women, especially those like you who have long lacked certain... experiences..."

He paced in front of me, toying with a slender, gleaming cane in his hand.

"Your body is stiff, your nerves numb. It requires some... strong, effective treatment to awaken them, and to establish conditioned reflexes."

He gently tapped my calf with the cane:

"Crawl."

I stood rigid, my blood seeming to freeze.

"You monsters! You'll go to any lengths, you're all going to hell!"

"I said, crawl."

The cane lifted, and without warning, with a whistle through the air, it came down hard on the same spot on my calf.

"Ah!"

The sharp pain made me cry out instantly, my calf feeling as if it had been scalded.

My muscles spasmed uncontrollably, my body went limp, and I fell with a thud onto the rough carpet.

My knees hit hard, stinging.

"See? You can crawl, can't you?"