The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Laurel smiled to herself. The bags she was carrying were starting to get heavy, but she didn’t mind. It had been a good day and now it was almost over. A cool breeze blew across her face, keeping her long blonde hair out of her eyes. It was just what she need after the exertions of the day. The young woman didn’t know how far she’d walked. From shop to boutique to department store, every fashion place she could think of. It must have been miles and miles. If she’d had a pedometer Laurel was sure it would have clocked back over to 0. It had been a long time since she had been able to go shopping like this. Actually, she admitted, she’d never been able to go shopping as she had today. Her father’s business was finally starting to pick up and he’d told her she could max out her card. After reminding himself what the limit was, anyway.

She stopped for a moment, shifted one of the bags whose handle was biting into the skin of her hand. The street was almost deserted, the red brick apartment buildings rose on either side of the street, four storeys, typical of this part of the city. Laurel liked them, old enough to be interesting, with their windows outlined in white, the decoration of each building, each floor, slightly different. They had personality, not like the bland, uniform, modern buildings that she saw in other parts of the city.

Not much further, she told herself, a little burst of energy coming now that the building that held her family’s apartment was just around the corner. Maybe she should have taken a taxi, but she’d spent every cent she had on clothes and shoes and lingerie. She’d had to make do, sales and cheap clothes and making things last, for so long, all through her teen years, that today she’d gone a little wild. Oh well, she thought, no money, I’ll be making my lunches for the next couple of days. Something she’d had to do many times before, working part-time as a receptionist at her family’s struggling business, giving whatever time she could when she wasn’t studying. Well, at what had been a struggling business. Their frugality had paid off, her father had finally managed to scrape together enough to properly capitalise the business and now everything was looking up.

Load readjusted, Laurel was about to continue on her way when someone spoke to her.

“Excuse me miss, could you please tell me the time?”

Laurel turned to see who it was. The speaker was a Chinese man. Laurel had guessed he was from somewhere around there, the slightly accented, though excellent, English, unmistakeable. He wore a suit, well-tailored over a fit-looking body. Laurel wondered why someone in a suit like that didn’t have a watch, or at least a mobile, so they could check the time themselves.

“Umm, sorry,” she replied, “bit loaded down here, don’t know if I can reach my mobile.”

“Perhaps if I held some of your bags? They look very heavy.” The man reached out a hand, Laurel noticing the heavy jewelled ring on one finger.

Laurel hesitated. The man sounded very polite. He didn’t look that old, there was no grey in his hair, no lines on his face. He didn’t look that young, either, he had an air about him, a gravity that only a certain age can convey. He certainly didn’t look the type to grab her bags and run. Still, you never knew.

“It’s okay, just let me put a couple down,” Laurel replied, letting some of the bags slip from her stiff fingers, a faint rustle of paper and plastic as they reached the ground. It did feel nice to get some of the weight off her hands. Laurel hadn’t realised that she’d lost feeling in a couple of her fingers. Load relieved, she started to rifle through her handbag for her phone.

Laurel felt a presence behind her, someone close, then cried out in surprise as she was jerked backwards by an arm around her waist, her feet momentarily leaving the ground. Her head came up, meeting the eyes of her questioner, but she could read nothing in his impassive face.

Laurel struggled, the last of her parcels dropping, contents spilling out, a multi-coloured wash of fabric, as she pushed against the arm holding her. She could feel her body pressed against the person behind her. The pressure around her stomach was forcing the breath out of her. The man’s other arm, for Laurel was sure it was a man that held her, grabbed her right arm. She twisted and squirmed, struck out with one foot, lashing behind her with her free arm. Her foot caught the man’s shin and he staggered back. The grip on her right arm loosened and she yanked it away. Seizing her chance, Laurel pushed, hard, trying to break free. The arm around her waist wouldn’t move at all. It was like a steel belt. She didn’t know who held her, the arm was covered in black, the material thick and stretchy, the hand in a black glove. As she struggled she caught a glimpse of black running shoes. All much more utilitarian than the clothing of the man in front of her. She had to fight to keep her right arm free, the man trying to reclaim his grip on it.

Laurel gasped as another man stepped in front her, Chinese in appearance and dressed identically to her assailant. With one hand he grabbed her left wrist. “Wha?” she managed before his other gloved hand reached up and covered her mouth. There was something in it, and there was a scent Laurel couldn’t recognise, sweet and sickly, and then she could taste it in her mouth before she could tell herself not to breathe. All she could think was “Oh God, no,” before her world went dark.

Laurel struggled back to wakefulness, thankful to be alive. She was lying down. Memories flooded back and Laurel sat bolt upright. She seemed to be in some sort of bedroom, but it was strange, everything very white. The walls, the bed she had been lying on, its covers and pillows, the furniture, the curtains, all white. Not plain I’m-the-opposite-of-black white, but a variety. The walls were a light cream, the furniture a slightly darker shade. The curtains were plain white, the window behind them opaque, much as Laurel peered at it, pressed her face against it, she couldn’t see out. Her attention skittered to the rest of the room. The furniture was ornate, expensive looking even. The bed had a metal frame, not just a headboard and footboard, but also the side under the window, metal loops and curls running under a solid looking bar. With so much white she thought for a moment that there was something wrong with her eyes, before she caught sight of a yellow flower, still with its stem, lying on the bedside table.

The only things in the room that showed any colour, besides her and the flower, were the three men watching her from the other side of the room. Laurel froze as she registered their presence. Two of them were standing. Both were Chinese, and dressed in black, turtle neck sweaters, gloves, pants, running shoes. One of them she recognised as the man who had drugged her, the other, Laurel thought, was probably the man who had held her. He appeared strong enough, they both did. The two men idly looked at her and Laurel had the feeling that she knew what a mouse felt when examined by a cat. Not a particularly hungry cat, but one who wanted to know where the mouse was and was going to make sure it stayed there until it was hungry. Laurel stayed very still, just the uncontrollable shaking of her hands betraying her terror.

The third man looked at her with far greater attentiveness. Laurel recognised him, it was the man who had asked her for the time. He was seated, in one of the white chairs the room held.

“Ah,” he smiled, “welcome back Miss Wilson.”

“Who? Why?” She’d obviously been kidnapped, but Laurel couldn’t begin to think why. The men certainly didn’t look like serial killers. And did serial killers ever come in threes? But then she realised that she’d seen their faces. Kidnappers who were planning to release you didn’t let you see their faces. Not professionals anyway. And these men looked like professionals. In blind panic Laurel leapt off the bed and headed for the door, even though the men were between her and it. She tried to dive around the man on the right.

It didn’t work, her arm was caught in a steely grip before she was even half way around him. Laurel flailed with her free hand before it too was caught and she sagged in despair between the two men as she was dragged back to the bed.

“Now, now, Miss Wilson, escape is not that simple. If you co-operate I guarantee that you will survive. If I tell my men to let you go, will you agree to stay put? I could have them tie you to the bed.”

Laurel eyed the bed. Its frame was certainly decorative, but also solid. There was no doubt that the man could carry out his threat. She nodded, words were beyond her, fear robbing her of them. What did these men want with her?

The man barked a command. Laurel thought it was in Chinese, but she didn’t speak the language so she wasn’t sure. The two men released her, throwing her back onto the bed, then backed away, returning to their positions beside the seated man. Their eyes never left her the whole time and they now watched her with a much more focused gaze.

“I’m sure you have questions, many questions, Miss Wilson. My name is Mr. Liu. Your father owes me a considerable sum of money. And he has, despite my numerous reasonable requests, refused to pay. You will help me recover my money.”

Laurel’s mind raced. If Liu was telling the truth, then it explained where her father had found the investment money. It hadn’t been their frugality, he’d borrowed it, from this man. It had never crossed her mind that the money might have been borrowed. Banks had turned them down too many times. With a sinking feeling she realised who the men were.

“T-triad?” she managed to get out after swallowing a couple of times, “ransom?” She hoped, prayed, it was ransom. That meant she might survive. She knew that murder meant nothing to the Triad, to these men, that they’d kill her as easily as breathing. Laurel found herself struggling for breath, fear constricting her throat. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. She was frozen, caught, imagining all the ways they could kill her, she saw herself, dead, throat slit, bullet in the head, strangled. She put her head in her hands and cried.

Liu waited, perhaps sensing her misery, letting it take her, allowing her imagination to provide the brutal imagery mere threats couldn’t convey. Eventually Laurel looked up, blinking tears away. Liu was smiling, though Laurel didn’t find it a pleasant expression. “An astute observation and not an unreasonable conclusion, given the circumstances. You are not a stupid girl. Good. That will make this easier. But no, this is not about ransom. We need a much more object lesson than that, for your father and any who might think the same as he.”

If they didn’t want to ransom her Laurel couldn’t think what they were going to do to recover their money. Wild images careered across her mind. Perhaps they were going to kill her and steal her organs? That didn’t fit with the room she was in, but she didn’t know where she was or what they were intending and she was afraid and alone and beginning to panic. Laurel scuttled back on the bed, her shoes scrabbling wildly at the bed covers, pushing herself into the corner at the head, where the two walls met, wrapping her hands around the legs she had drawn up against her chest. She could feel the pillows forming to the shape of her body. Soft, and no protection at all. She looked around, wildly, knowing her eyes were wide with fear, hoping for something, anything, that could help her, but she saw nothing in the plain white of the room that gave her any comfort.

Mr Liu regarded her. “As I said, co-operate and you will survive this, see your family again. For now I have other matters to attend to but I will return shortly.” He signalled to one of the guards, who turned and opened the door.

Laurel looked out desperately, hoping for some sign of where she was, something to give her an idea of how to escape. All she found was disappointment. The walls outside were the same featureless light cream as the walls in the room. She couldn’t see any other doors or anything useful. Not, she thought despairingly, that she’d been expecting a ‘this way to the escape route’ sign.

Another guard entered, attire identical those of the two Laurel had already seen. This man carried a tray. It shone, looking almost silver. On it was a pitcher and cup, porcelain. There were images on the objects, birds, people in a garden, the colours slightly faded. The pieces looked old, expensive, the style Chinese. Laurel thought it was an odd service for a captive.

“Drink,” Mr Liu said rising from his chair, “I expect that you are thirsty. I want at least half the pitcher emptied before I return.” He didn’t give any indication of how long that would be.

The guard placed the cup and pitcher on a small chest of drawers by the bed, then left, following Mr Liu.

Laurel was torn. She was thirsty, but she had no idea what was in the pitcher. For what may have been a few minutes or hours, she didn’t know how long, she couldn’t move, fear freezing her in place. Then, carefully, hesitantly, keeping an eye on the guards, she slipped across the bed and looked in the pitcher. It looked like water. It could be drugged, she thought. But then she had no other source of something to drink, there were no taps or anything like that in the room. If she wanted water, this was her only choice. Was it only water? She had no way of knowing. There could be anything in it, drugs, poison. All right, it probably wasn’t poison, she reasoned, if they’d wanted her dead then she’d never have woken up after being taken off the street.

Taken. Laurel shrank back on the bed again, her thoughts in pieces as the emotions rushed at her. Taken right off the street near her home. How long had it been? Did her parents realise? What were they thinking? What about her sister Leslie? Would she ever see them again? Mr Liu had said she would, but kidnapping wasn’t a great recommendation for trustworthiness. She started to cry again as she realised the hopelessness of her situation. She was alone, helpless. There was nothing she could do. She knew how strong the guards were, how fast. They could do anything they wanted to her, anything, and there’d be nothing she could do to stop them. She felt sick, fear churning within her. She could no longer tell how far away the walls were, the white giving her no idea of distance, but somehow she could feel them closing in on her, pressing down, she couldn’t run, she couldn’t hide. A black pit of despair opened before her, a feeling she’d never known before, never imagined.

A few minutes later Laurel made herself stop, wiped her tears away. She wasn’t that useless, or fragile. She had to survive this, cling on to some sort of hope, however frail and far away it was, however terrified she felt. The first thing she had to do was keep her wits about her, try, as well, as she could, to stop herself sinking into despair. Probably the best thing was to co-operate, at least when she couldn’t see any immediate harm in it. Getting her kidnappers angry wouldn’t do her any good. The crying had only made her thirstier. So she had better drink the water.

Sliding over to the side of the bed, she reached for the cup. There was a sense of age to it, importance, meaning. Why, Laurel wondered, would a kidnap victim be served from antique china? Perhaps it was some Triad tradition she didn’t know about. She asked the guards but they gave no answers. She didn’t even know if they could speak English. Carefully, Laurel poured the water into the cup, fighting the shaking in her hands. She didn’t want to break anything, maybe she could save that for later if she thought getting Mr Liu angry might actually help her.

Laurel paused again before drinking the water, eyed it suspiciously as she whirled it around the cup. It looked like water. Sniffing it revealed nothing more. It could be drugged, she realised, but if they wanted her drugged they had more options than the water in front of her. Still, she had no idea what she was drinking. It could be anything, do anything to her. She didn’t know, had no way of knowing. The water seemed just as threatening as the guards. Maybe more so. She at least knew what they could do, with the water she had no idea. Tears slid down her cheeks again, hating that she felt so helpless that she was even afraid of water.

What does it matter? Laurel thought, despairingly, if something’s going to happen, let it happen. She was so thirsty, she needed to drink, and if they wanted to drug her refusing to drink wouldn’t stop them. She couldn’t wait any longer, she started drinking. The water was cool, cooler than she’d expected from the amount of time it had been sitting, but maybe porcelain pitchers were good at keeping water cool. The water tasted a little, different, not quite like she was used to water tasting. Slightly bitter, slightly flavoured, earthy. Maybe it was just the effect of the pitcher. Laurel hadn’t realised how thirsty she was. She finished the first cup and was onto a second before she’d even realised it.

“Any chance of some food?” she asked. She could feel her dread of the guards, didn’t know how they’d react. But she had to try to be something other than a captive frozen in terror.

The guards didn’t reply, but one of them rapped on the door. The door opened and the third guard looked around the frame from where he must have been standing outside. Guarded inside and out, Laurel thought glumly. After a short conversation, again in Chinese, the third guard disappeared, closing the door behind him. Sometime later he returned, again bearing the silver tray. This time it held a small bowl of steaming noodles. He placed the bowl and a pair of ornate chopsticks on the table, again taking the tray with him as he left.

Laurel noticed that the bowl seemed to match the cup and pitcher. “Does every kidnap victim get their own set or is this the house standard?” she asked, trying to act much braver than she felt. The guards maintained their impassive gaze.

The noodles brought Laurel’s thirst back and before she knew it she’d emptied the pitcher. The food and the water seemed to have soothed her fear, at least enough for her to function.

A little while later, Mr Liu and the third guard returned. After examining the pitcher Liu smiled and gave the third guard an order, again in what Laurel assumed was Chinese. The guard cleaned away everything off the bedside table and left. Laurel noticed that the door was left open, but she didn’t think she had any chance of making it that far.

“I’m very pleased Miss Wilson,” Liu said, having resumed his seat. “Now, to business. Remember what I said, cooperate and you will survive. Do you understand Miss Wilson, cooperate and survive. Please repeat it back to me.”

The force of Liu’s voice made Laurel feel dizzy, as if oxygen had suddenly been cut off from her brain. Perhaps it was shock settling in. She couldn’t think properly, a white fuzzy void blocking out her thoughts. The phrase Mr Liu had uttered echoed in her head, ‘cooperate and survive’. She could see the sense in it. No point getting her kidnappers angry. As long as cooperating didn’t seem too bad a thing it did seem the best way to survive this.

“Cooperate and survive.” Laurel’s tone sounded a little flat, even to her, and she frowned at that. Then she shook her head. She couldn’t expect to be vibrant, given her present circumstances.

“Miss Wilson, please open the top drawer.” Liu indicated the chest of drawers beside the bed. Despite what Liu had said she wasn’t sure how safe it was to do what he asked. Looking at the guards, she also had her doubts about how safe it was to object. Reluctantly she thought she’d go along for now. Laurel opened the drawer, not knowing what to expect. This was all rather different to what she’d imagined kidnapping would be like. Not that she had any real knowledge to go by, she admitted, but she expected more coercion, being tied to a chair in a dingy room, not sitting on a comfortable bed being fed from antique china.

Inside the drawer she could see her handbag. Eagerly she grabbed it, hoping it might still have her phone in it. Then she might be able to call someone, let them know she was all right. They might even be able to trace the call, work out where she was, and rescue her. Her shoulders slumped in bitter disappointment as she realised that the handbag was empty. There was nothing else in the drawer. Wherever the contents of her handbag were, it wasn’t there.

“Good,” said Liu sharply, then clicked his fingers. Another man entered the room. This man wasn’t Chinese, but white. He looked about 50, a paunch showing over his belt. He shot a nervous glance in Liu’s direction, Laurel could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously.

“Miss Wilson, please take the money this man is about to give you, put it in your handbag and say thank you. Then put your handbag back in the drawer.”

Laurel frowned, again. A kidnapper giving money to a kidnap victim seemed awfully strange to her. There was something here she didn’t understand, something her instincts told she didn’t want any part of.

Too scared to look at any of the men, too scared to speak, she shook her head.

“Miss Wilson, do I need to have my men force you to co-operate.”

Laurel’s head shot up, she looked wildly from one black-clad guard to another. She didn’t want them touching her, didn’t want them forcing her to do anything. A small knot of hesitation held her back. She didn’t know where this was leading. Co-operation seemed better than the alternative. She couldn’t see the harm, so she might as well. Biting her lip, she nodded her assent.

The older man walked over to her, holding out a crumbled bill in his hand. She thought it was a twenty. Laurel took it, being very careful not to make any direct contact with the man’s hand. She hadn’t been told she had to, and she didn’t want to. Shivering, she put the note in her handbag and closed it.

“Thank you,” she said, hearing her own voice quaver. Laurel looked at the man as she said it, saw the unease in his eyes, a faint echo of her own fears. The man left the room as she put her handbag back in the drawer.

“Very good Miss Wilson, there was nothing to that, was there?” Liu smiled at her. Laurel was getting used to his smile not reaching his eyes, but she still didn’t like it.

“No, um I suppose not.” She was still suspicious of what point Liu was trying to make.

“Nothing at all, so I think you would be willing to do a little more to cooperate and survive.”

Laurel hesitated, the phrase vibrating through her. Liu seemed to be playing some strange game. Even if it seemed harmless enough, Laurel knew that she had to be careful. She wasn’t sure how far she should let this go, how far she should let these men take her. Perhaps she should stop now. Liu clearly wanted something from her, perhaps she could.

“Miss Wilson.” Laurel’s thoughts were interrupted by the crack of Liu’s voice. She looked at him, could see the threat in his eyes, any determination she felt wilting under his icy stare. Laurel didn’t want to co-operate, despite what she’d said earlier. Uncertainty kept the fear coursing through her. She decided co-operation was better than whatever Liu threatened.

“Umm, okay.”

“Good.” Liu snapped his fingers again. Another man entered the room, a bit younger than the last one, he appeared to be some sort of labourer or maybe a construction worker.

“Please take the money from this man and put it in your handbag. But before you say thank you please kiss him.”

Laurel’s eyebrows shot up. “What? No! You can’t make me.”

“Kiss him? Probably not.” Liu nodded in agreement with her claim. “But my guards could make you do things you would find considerably more distasteful. Come now Miss Wilson, remember, cooperate and survive. You must have kissed many men.”

Well a few, thought Laurel, but not many that looked like this man. He was so, well, old and not very attractive. She didn’t want to kiss him, humiliating herself in front of these men. It was wrong, something about the whole situation was wrong, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. The two guards were looking at her, she could almost feel their hands on her, holding her down. Laurel could feel her heart beating, faster and faster. Maybe it was better to do what Liu asked. One little kiss wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay”, she said.

The man quickly covered the short distance to her bed and handed Laurel the money. She put it in her handbag. Then he bent over to kiss her. It was little more than a nervous peck, both participants keeping their lips tightly together. Laurel almost giggled in relief as he left the room. She could keep this sort of game up all day. Although she did wonder at her light headedness, given the situation.

Another click of Liu’s fingers brought her back to reality. “A kiss,” he said, “goes with a cuddle, or so I am told.”

Laurel frowned. This was going a bit far. A kiss was one thing, especially a chaste one as she’d just had. But cuddling? That was rather more personal. She didn’t want to do that.

Liu must have sensed her hesitation “You kiss, and then you cuddle. Isn’t that the natural order of these things Miss Wilson? You have kissed, now you should cuddle. Perfectly normal.”

Well, Laurel supposed, that’s true, kiss then cuddle. She’d done that often enough in the past. Not that she was free or easy, but she’d had her share of boyfriends. Something about the logic escaped her, the thought disappearing in a strange, white, spark, but she knew that she had to cooperate to survive and maybe a cuddle, right now, even from a stranger, someone connected with her kidnappers, might just make her feel a little better.

Another man had entered the room. This one looked a bit younger than the others, maybe in his thirties. Laurel reached for her handbag. She took the money from the man’s hand and put her handbag away before he put his arms around her, drew her in and kissed her, with a bit more passion than the last man. Then they cuddled for a bit, the man even sneaking a quick peck on her neck before he left. Laurel admitted it had been rather nice, though she did remind herself that these people had kidnapped her.

Liu asked her for nothing more than that with the next two men. Laurel still wasn’t sure what her chief kidnapper was about. Maybe he had some fetish about watching girls get cuddled. Well, if that’s what it took to pay off her father’s debt it wasn’t that bad.

“After kissing and cuddling, Miss Wilson, I believe comes petting.” Liu’s face was unreadable. Laurel wondered if he could look less interested if he was discussing gardening. Or maybe he would look more interested then. Maybe gardening was his thing. Laurel wasn’t sure why her mind seemed to be wandering in odd ways. Though stress from being kidnapped did seem a good explanation.

“No,” she said, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. Kissing and cuddling, well, that was one thing. But petting, being felt up, was something else altogether. That was crossing a line. That was something private.

“Well, it’s entirely up to you Miss Wilson. But if you refuse I can have one of my guards restrain you while the other carries out a detailed exploration. And really, is it that much more than you have already done?”

When he put it that way, Laurel had to admit it wasn’t that bad, her hands shaking as her fear of the guards resurfaced. She didn’t want to have some stranger feeling her up, but it was preferable to the attentions of the guards, the cold gleam in their eyes making her skin crawl. She had to choose, she told herself, summoning what courage she could. Petting, she could do that, having someone run their hands over her, bring her pleasure. That’s what she remembered about petting. The memories didn’t involve strangers so somehow she thought she should object to doing it now, but she couldn’t quite see why, her head feeling both light and heavy, her thoughts flickering in a white void. It didn’t seem the best idea, but it was better than the alternative. Cooperation did seem preferable. Liu took her silence for assent and snapped his fingers.

The man who entered the room looked about 40. His skin was darker, probably Mediterranean Laurel thought. He was thin, with a pointed nose. She took the money he offered her and put it in her handbag. She thought that there must be some significance to the money. If her head didn’t feel quite so fuzzy she was sure that she would realise what it was. There was an idea, somewhere in her brain, but she couldn’t grasp it. She shrugged, the man already had one arm about her and there was no point getting Liu upset.

They kissed and cuddled for a while before Laurel felt one hand slip towards her breast. She tightened, trying to prepare herself for the unwanted contact. Then she let her breath escape. The man’s hand running over her breasts didn’t feel that bad. Actually, it felt rather good, she welcomed the contact, the feel of his touch. She didn’t think she should, but well, she really didn’t have any choice, so she thought she may as well go with it.

For the next couple of men Liu didn’t ask anything more of her. Laurel took the money they offered her, put it in her handbag. Then they’d kiss and cuddle and the men would run their hands over her. Not just her breasts, but her legs as well, not too far up, that wouldn’t be right, but a little way up her thighs, the men’s hands running over her smooth skin, that was okay. Well, a bit better than okay because with the second man she started to feel a funny sort of tingling. And when they finished she’d say “Thank you.” By the third man it was all getting a bit routine, but the tingle was still there.

“Good,” said Mr Liu after the man left. “For the next man you will let him take off your dress.”

Laurel almost agreed before she stopped herself. Let one of these men take her dress off? That was ridiculous. She might be cooperating to survive and a bit of petting hardly mattered. But lose her dress? No way, that was too far. She could feel herself frowning.

Her look must have alerted Liu to her lack of agreement. “Really Miss Wilson? Or should I call you Laurel. Yes, I think Laurel will be easier. What’s a bit of cloth, really? You have agreed to let men touch you. A bit of cloth makes no difference. The man’s hand is still upon you either way, so you may as well agree.”

Laurel considered what he said. She thought there was something wrong but she couldn’t find a hole in Liu’s logic. When a man was feeling her up his hands were upon her. She could feel him, he could feel her, the cloth of a dress hardly mattered. Any doubts disappeared into that white hole in her mind. They were gone, so she may as well agree to what Mr Liu asked.

“Okay,” she nodded.

(To be continued)