Escape the Obsessive CEO in My Second Life

A headache like countless steel needles stabbing mercilessly into my temples. I jolted my eyes open, but the warm light of the crystal chandelier pierced my eyes, making it impossible to keep them open. This wasn't the hospital's pale white ceiling; it was Frank Shaw's private apartment—the exact place where I died in my past life. The electronic clock on the wall glowed brightly, showing 8:17 PM. The numbers burned like a red-hot iron, making my heart constrict sharply. I remembered—it's today. Tina Jones would storm in with a group of reporters, snapping fake 'intimate' photos of Frank and me, destroying my reputation overnight in H City. Something even more terrifying is yet to come. Frank Shaw was certain I had "betrayed" him, locking me in the villa's basement, torturing me mentally and abusing me physically day after day, until finally, with a cold iron chain, he tightened it around my neck, choking me slowly. "Ugh—" my stomach churned violently as I staggered to the bathroom, clutching the toilet and dry heaving uncontrollably. The woman in the mirror was as pale as paper, but a fierce fire of survival burned in her eyes. I am Jennifer Scott, no longer the fool who was blinded by love and mercilessly exploited in my past life. The phone vibrated on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a message from Frank Shaw: "Wait for me, I brought you a gift." My fingers trembled uncontrollably—I deleted the message, then without hesitation opened Tina Jones' contact. In my past life, she was Frank Shaw's legitimate fiancee, and I was the despised third party. But who knew I was forced to be by Frank Shaw's side because of my parents' company? He held my family's lifeline in his hands; I had no choice. I quickly sent my location and typed: "Save me. Frank Shaw is forcing me. I'm at his apartment." The moment the message was sent successfully, the bedroom door was pushed open just a crack. "Jennifer, you're awake?" Frank Shaw's voice was his usual deep tone, carrying an unmistakable air of control. He entered, holding a dark red velvet box in his hand, a faint, almost imperceptible smile at the corner of his lips. I immediately curled up, pressing my hands tightly against my lower abdomen, forcing a painful expression, and weakly said, "Frank, I feel awful; my stomach hurts terribly." He frowned as he came over and reached out to touch my forehead. "What's wrong? You were fine during the video call this afternoon." I suddenly turned my head sharply to dodge, my eyes filled with terror: "Don't touch me! I think I'm having a sudden stomach flu attack; I need to get to the hospital immediately." "It's just a minor illness—you just need to call the family doctor." His tone left no room for argument as he took out his phone to dial. "No!" I suddenly raised my voice and deliberately knocked over the glass on the bedside table. With a crash, water splashed onto his expensive custom suit pants, leaving a dark stain. Frank Shaw's face instantly darkened, a flicker of impatience flashing in his eyes. "Jennifer Scott, don't try any tricks." "I'm not playing any tricks!" I grabbed his wrist, my nails nearly digging into his flesh, my voice filled with sheer determination, "If you don't want me to die here with you, take me to the hospital right now! What if I've got a perforated stomach? Are you prepared to take responsibility?" Suddenly, the doorbell downstairs rang urgently, followed by the bodyguard's sharp reprimands, faintly mixed with a woman's arguing. Frank Shaw's phone rang; it was a call from the bodyguard. "Mr. Shaw, Ms. Jones has brought a lot of reporters, saying they want to ask you questions face to face..." The bodyguard's voice was panicked. Frank Shaw's face instantly turned deathly pale. He glared at me fiercely, his eyes as if trying to devour me: "Is this your doing?" "I didn't do it!" I took the chance to push him away and staggered toward the door. "It must be a misunderstanding by Tina Jones. You should go down and explain clearly. I'll take a taxi to the hospital myself." He hesitated for a moment. The noise downstairs was growing louder, and the clicking of reporters' camera shutters could be heard clearly. "Stay here. Don't move!" He threw out the words and turned to hurry down the stairs, his footsteps urgent and heavy. How could I possibly stay still? As soon as Frank Shaw disappeared at the stairwell, I grabbed the bag on the sofa, opened the emergency exit door, and rushed out. The motion-activated lights in the hallway flickered orange-yellow in response to my footsteps. Every step felt like setting foot on a new beginning—heavy but resolute. I ran out of the apartment building, the evening breeze brushing against my face, carrying the coolness unique to summer nights—the taste of freedom. I stood by the roadside trying to hail a car, but several vehicles sped past without stopping. Suddenly, a sharp screech of brakes came from behind, freezing me in place with fear. A red luxury car pulled up in front of me, the window slowly rolling down to reveal Tina Jones's striking yet furious face.