Forced Pearl Tasting in Break Room - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

I shouted his name over and over, but only silence answered me.
His body language was getting weirder by the second...
"Stop! Get off me!"
Blind panic took over. I lashed out with a wild kick—connecting right where it hurt.
"Gah!" Ryan's pained yelp filled the room.
"Jessica Valentine, what the actual fuck?!" His roar made me jump.
I tore off the blindfold and yanked at the ropes. The sight that greeted me? Ryan doubled over like a folded lawn chair, hands cupped protectively between his legs—courtesy of my impromptu groin shot.
He glared up at me, equal parts pissed and impressed.
"Jesus Christ, girl! Who taught you to kick like a damn mule?" He winced, still clutching himself. "And who said you could untie—"
"Lie. The hell. Down."
The ridiculous way he was hobbling almost made me laugh. Then it hit me—this creep had been trying to assault me. Thank God for muscle memory and that Taekwondo black belt.
I straightened my shirt, planting my feet. "Newsflash, Ryan—I don't play damsel in distress." My knuckles cracked as I flexed them. "Try that again and I'll rearrange your face."
For the first time, Ryan looked nervous. He backpedaled, one hand still down his pants, the other waving surrender. "Alright, alright! Just... get out."
As I turned to leave, the pearls on the table caught my eye—floating in a puddle of suspicious white goop. The rancid smell told me everything.
The bowl shattered against the floor before I even realized I'd thrown it. My skin crawled with revulsion.
"You're disgusting!" Bile rose in my throat. I'd actually eaten that... thing.
Ryan just smirked, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Special pearl marinade, babe. Does wonders for your complexion."
"Enjoy it yourself, pervert."
I slammed the door so hard the bell jingled off its hinge.
The resignation email hit my inbox before I'd even showered the ick off. Part of me wanted to sue, but seeing that full final paycheck... Maybe some battles weren't worth fighting.
At least I'd left my mark—literally. That kick would haunt him longer than any lawsuit.
Just as I was deleting the shop's group chat, a notification popped up: Liam Lawrence wants to be friends.
My thumb hovered over 'Decline.' Why now? But fate (or my clumsy fingers) hit 'Accept.'
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Three messages exploded onto my screen—a shirtless mirror selfie, some gross winky-face emoji, and a link titled "The Pearl Girl."
My stomach dropped.
"Jess, this you?"
The photos loaded in nightmare slow-mo. There I was in the breakroom, lips around those godforsaken pearls. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped my phone.
The last image blurred at the edges—Ryan forcing my legs apart. The grainy quality somehow made it worse, like some seedy underground film still.
"WHERE DID YOU GET THESE?!"
Liam's reply came instant: "Dark web forum. Check the link."
The page loaded with a hundred variations of my face. Comments section filled with degenerates rating my body, asking Ryan for my "menu prices."
The realization hit like a sucker punch—the whole pearl tasting had been a setup. That bastard filmed me. Sold the footage. Made me internet famous in the worst possible way.
Rage turned my vision red. This wasn't over.
An idea sparked.
"Liam. Meet me." My thumbs flew across the screen. "I need a partner in crime."
The reply was instant: a single thumbs-up emoji.
Game on.