07 Stockholm Syndrome

Gemma's POV

From my perspective, I see an unusual tenderness in Luke's eyes, like fire on an iceberg or a star in the night.

My heart starts pounding wildly because of this stark contrast.

For a moment, I even think of the scene where the prince slips the glass slipper onto Cinderella's foot.

But we're nothing like the prince and Cinderella.

Luke is the nasty capitalist exploiting me, and I'm the pitiful employee who can't even complain about my bonus being withheld.

So why is my heart racing? Could it be that I like him? No, that's impossible.

Luke closes the first aid kit.

"Thank you, boss," I say hurriedly and then limp away to the guest room.

Later, Luke knocks on the door, "I ordered takeout. Do you want some?"

"I'm not hungry, thanks."

I lie on the bed, hugging a pillow, staring at the ceiling, with the image of Luke holding my ankle stuck in my mind. His palm was so warm that my ankle still seems to burn.

It's dark now. I'm lying on this incredibly soft, supposedly sleep-enhancing mattress, but I can't sleep.

I get up, open the door, and walk out. Luke is in the living room, drinking water. I freeze when I see him.

He looks at me casually, "You're still awake?"

"I—" I stammer, "I can't sleep and need to go home to get my sleep mask."

Luke glances at my foot, "Where's your sleep mask? I'll get it for you."

"On the nightstand."

Luke walks out, and two minutes later, he returns with my sleep mask.

I sit on the sofa, see him, and stand up, "Thank you."

Then I head back to the guest room.

"Wait a minute," he suddenly says from behind me.

I turn around, "Yes?"

Luke goes to his bedroom and comes back holding a small nightlight. He hands it to me.

"What's this?" I look up at him.

"If you get thirsty at night and want to get up for water, it's easy to bump into things with a sleep mash. So let this light the room."

It's a rather beautiful nightlight with tassels. I plug it in by the bed and put on the mask, but I still can't sleep.

Around midnight, I sit up, frustrated, take off the mask, and stare at the nightlight. After a while, I can't help but reach out, braiding the tassel into a small braid, and then lie back down.

The next day is Sunday. I open the door and see Luke standing in the living room.

He's wearing black silk pajamas, which look loose and casual, but certain parts cling naturally to his skin, effortlessly outlining his toned, perfect muscles.

I swallow hard.

"Good morning," Luke says.

I nod, still a bit groggy.

"What do you want for breakfast? I'll order takeout."

"No need," I say, "I'll go downstairs and buy something for us."

There's a café near the entrance of the complex. Luke frowns slightly, "Your foot—"

"It's fine now." The shard of porcelain didn't go in deep; it just scratched the skin a little.

Luke looks at the weather outside, "It might start raining soon."

"I'll be quick." I quickly change in the bedroom and dash out the door.

I need to stay away from Luke for a while and think things through. But after I buy breakfast and walk home, I realize I don't even know what to think about.

I just find it strange. Where did the anger I had, the desire to throw my resignation letter in Luke's face, disappear to? How could my feelings for Luke change so drastically in such a short time?

Could it be that I've developed the terrible Stockholm Syndrome?

Just as I start worrying about this potential mental disorder, it begins to rain heavily.

In seconds, raindrops start pounding the ground. I quickly cover my head with my hands and start running, but the rain above me stops.

I look up to see Luke standing in front of me, holding an umbrella.

"I told you it would rain, didn't I?" His voice is as cold as ever.

I open my mouth, but suddenly, I don't know what to say.

The umbrella is small, so after Luke takes the breakfast from my hands, he gently puts an arm around my shoulders and leads me home. My heart starts racing again.

The rain is so heavy that by the time we get home, we're both soaked.

I sit on the floor, take off my shoes, and wipe off the mud.

When I accidentally look up, I see Luke by the sofa, taking off his clothes.

He pulls his T-shirt over his head with both hands crossed at the hem.

The movement itself isn't erotic, and Luke's back is to me. But his body is just too perfect.

I realized this when I saw him at the Sex Culture Festival, but now, for the first time, he's standing shirtless in front of me.

His back muscles are firm, not overly rugged like those of men who overdo it at the gym, but they exude a sense of absolute security.

His waist is slender and sexy, and I can't help but imagine wrapping my legs around it. Further down are his well-shaped buttocks, so full and round that it makes you want to give them a light smack.

I swallow hard.

If his back looks this good, what must Luke's front look like? I start losing myself in endless fantasies.

In reality, the time Luke spent taking off his shirt and putting on his pajamas was very short. But in that brief moment, I've made a big decision.

"Boss, does the company have any rules against office romance?"

Luke turns to look at me, a subtle light in his eyes. "No."

"Our dealership really cares about employees," I say.

"So?" The light in Luke's eyes grows darker.

I toss my shoes aside and stand up. "In that case, why don't we start dating?"

The room falls silent.

The air stops moving, and time seems to freeze.

But when Luke looks at me and answers, "Okay," I glance at the clock on the wall—the second hand has only moved a quarter of the way around.

A person's life can be very short, or it can be very long.

But I think that when my life ends, I still won't understand why I made such a suggestion, or why, after making it, I didn't feel even a hint of regret.

The only explanation must be that terrible mental illness—Stockholm Syndrome—that's made me fall in love with a man who takes pleasure in torturing, enslaving, and underpaying me.

What do couples usually do?

After the rain stops, Luke takes me to the movies.

Even after we're seated in the cinema, I'm still a little dazed.

The cinema is always crowed on weekend afternoon, but there are only three movies to choose from today: a children's animated film, a documentary that sounds like a tearjerker, and the last one, an arty romance.

We pick the romance film.

The opening scene shows the main character riding a bicycle along a bright blue ocean, and the title slowly appears.

Many girls in the front row take out their phones to capture the moment, and I do the same.

The next second, Luke turns his head to look at me. I forget to press the shutter and turn my head to look at him.

The flickering light casts shadows on his face.

We're sitting so close that our breaths mingle. I can't make out his expression or the look in his eyes, but our gaze locks, making my heart race again.

I can't help but wonder if he's thinking about kissing me.

Cinemas are popular with couples because kissing here is so thrilling.

But wouldn't it be too fast? If I let him kiss me, will I seem too easy?

But his lips look so soft, they must be kissable.

Well, well. Since I'm the one who confessed first. Just let it happen.

I put my phone down and slowly close my eyes.

A few seconds later.

"You're sitting on my jacket," Luke suddenly says.

"Am I?" I cough awkwardly, open my eyes, and my face suddenly feels hot. I shift a little. "And now?"

"It's fine," Luke says.

We start watching the movie.

But this romance film is clearly a bit dull. Before the movie even reaches the halfway point, half the people in the cinema have already left.

The rows in front of us are now much emptier.

After a while, the people around us start making noises.

Some whisper quietly, others fidget with their phones, and I can even hear someone snoring in the back.

On the big screen, the male and female leads are still sitting by the sea, chatting about life.

The enclosed cinema isn't so peaceful anymore, with various emotions floating around in the dim light.

I sneak a glance at Luke, wondering if he's bored too.

But he's quietly watching the screen. He doesn't seem impatient, but he doesn't appear very absorbed in the movie either. He's just sitting there.

I lower my head, take out my phone, and send Luke a message: "Are we really together now?"

His phone screen lights up briefly. When he sees that the message is from me, he turns the brightness down to the lowest setting, picks up his phone, and replies: "Yes."

"Are you really Luke Shaw?" I continue typing.

"Yes," he replies again.

"I still feel like I'm dreaming," I add.

Luke has already closed his phone and is watching the movie again. The screen lights up once more, and he looks down, then turns to me.

"Come here."

He says softly, motioning for me to lean closer.

Is he really going to kiss me this time? I wore makeup today, strong foundation, so it won't rub off on his lips.

The next second.

He ruthlessly takes my phone away.

"Don't play on your phone during the movie," he says.

...

A piece of ice!

He's a complete piece of ice!!