After work, my colleagues gradually left the office. As for me, I stayed behind.

Once everyone had left, only Sasha and I remained.

Sasha started walking toward me.

She stood at about 5'9", slim, with a face as striking as a celebrity's, her skin smooth and soft, carrying a faint, enticing scent.

Her large, expressive eyes seemed to speak, constantly exuding a sense of charm and seduction.

I’d heard rumors that she had a high sex drive, and back in high school, a lot of guys supposedly had their way with her. Who knows if it’s true.

Today, she was wearing a short black skirt, barely covering her round hips. Her long, pale legs were wrapped in sheer stockings, looking incredibly alluring.

I moved closer and asked her, "Ms. King, did you keep me back here to take photos?"

Sasha’s face immediately twisted in anger, just like usual, and she snapped, "You filthy loser, worthless trash! You’re not even worthy to wipe my shoes, let alone take *those* kinds of photos! Dream on!"

After berating me, she stepped even closer, only inches away from me now, and demanded, "You pathetic waste—are you the monster? Are you the one behind this task, trying to humiliate me for your own gain?"

Her breath brushed my chin as she spoke, the heat making my skin prickle.

This witch. It was bad enough she always insulted me, but now she thought I was that man-eating monster? Ridiculous.

I scoffed. "I’m not the monster. If you don’t want me to take the photos, that’s fine. We’ll both fail the task, and if we die, we die together. I’m just a nobody—dying means nothing to me."

I turned to leave.

If Sasha didn’t keep me back to take photos, then there was no point in sticking around.

But before I could walk away, Sasha caught up to me and blocked my path. “You’re not going anywhere, loser!” she said forcefully.

I pushed past her and made it to the door.

Yet, in that moment, she grabbed my hand, stopping me. "You can’t leave," she muttered.

I halted, now getting seriously angry. Even a loser can get pissed off. "Ms. King, what the hell do you want from me?"

Her face flushed, and she asked in a softer tone, "You’re really not the monster?"

"No."

"Then what are we going to do?" Sasha’s voice shifted, trembling. "Who do you think the monster is? If we don’t finish this task, will we end up like Brooks, killed by it?"

I replied coldly, "I think Lily’s right. The monster might not even be human."

"Not human? You mean it’s a ghost?" Sasha shivered when she said that, her body quaking. "Why would a demon come after us? I’m a devout Christian!"

"How should I know? Whether it’s a ghost or something else, it’s powerful. If we don’t complete the task, we’ll end up just like Brooks."

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Tears welled in Sasha’s eyes as she stammered, "Don’t scare me. I don’t want to die." Her voice cracked, and despite all her usual toughness, she now looked just as vulnerable as any other woman in the face of death.

Suddenly, she gripped my hand tighter, gritting her teeth. "Alright, fine. Just take the picture. I’m too scared not to finish the task."

I froze for a second. I hadn’t expected her to actually agree to let me take *that* kind of photo.

The monster had specifically ordered me to take a picture of her *down there* and upload it to the company group chat.

If I did that, everyone at work would see it by tomorrow. Did she even care about her dignity anymore?

Plus, she was married. Wouldn’t her husband fly into a rage if he found out? Or did that no longer matter to her?

Then again, when faced with death, what’s dignity? What’s a husband’s anger compared to that?

"Alright," I nodded. I didn’t stand to lose anything. I was just the one taking the photo. If she was okay with it, then it was all good.

"Where should we take it? Here in the office?" I asked her.

Sasha’s face turned bright red as she glanced around the office. She walked over to her desk.

It was the very same desk where she usually sat and yelled at me, but now she leaned against it, her hips pressing into the surface.

She shifted her hips back a little, then perched on the edge of the desk.

Biting her lip, she looked at me and beckoned me closer.

Seeing this provocative scene, my heart raced, and my face flushed a bit as I quickly stepped in front of her.

Sasha reached under her skirt.

She lifted it, revealing a sliver of black fabric that barely covered a small mound. There were tiny, curly black hairs peeking out from beneath the fabric, teasingly escaping the confines of the cloth.

The sight made my nose bleed.

Then, Sasha’s hand moved to the waistband of her underwear.

But just as she was about to pull it down, she suddenly stopped and hastily dropped her skirt. She jumped off the desk, quickly straightening her clothes.

Confused, I asked, "What’s wrong? Are you backing out?"

Sasha’s face was as red as a ripe strawberry, looking like it could be squeezed for juice.

She shook her head. "No, I just remembered something."

"What is it?" I asked.

"There are security cameras in the office. We shouldn’t do it here. Let’s go somewhere else," she said.

I realized she was right. Our company had installed cameras in the office after several items went missing a while back.

"Where should we go then?" I asked.

Sasha glanced at the hallway outside the office, eyeing the restroom at the end.

"Let’s go to the bathroom," she suggested.

"Alright."

We went to the ladies’ restroom.

Inside one of the stalls, Sasha closed the door behind us. Then she handed me her phone. "Take it with this," she said.

"Got it."

Sasha stood there, and this time, without hesitation, she lifted her skirt again and swiftly pulled down her underwear.

"Take the picture already!" she urged.

But anyone could see the restroom stall was too small. Standing this close to her, there was no way I could get a good shot.

"Ms. King, I can’t get a clear picture."

"You’re such an idiot. Can’t you squat down, loser?" she snapped at me again.

She was right. If I squatted, I could get a better angle. I was just so nervous that I forgot.

I crouched down and aimed her phone, switching it to camera mode.

But before I could snap the picture, Sasha barked, "Hurry up and take it, loser. I’ll just pretend I got bitten by a filthy rat."

Hearing that, my anger flared.

What the hell was Sasha’s problem?

She was the one who begged me to take the photo because she was afraid of the monster. But now, just like before, she was venting her frustration on me—this time even worse, calling me a filthy rat.

Screw this! I wasn’t going to take her picture anymore.

I stood up, handed her phone back, and growled, "Sasha, I’m not doing it!"

"What? You worthless scum! I already pulled down my underwear, and now you’re not taking it? You should just die!" Sasha yelled and lunged at me, swinging her fists.

I grabbed her wrists and pushed her back, snarling, "What? You think you can force me to take it? Hell no, I’m done. Do whatever you want!"

I moved to leave.

Sasha panicked and cried, "Cole, aren’t you afraid of dying? If you don’t take the picture, that monster will kill you too!"

"So be it. I’m fine with dying."

"No, don’t go! You may not care, but I do! I don’t want to die! Cole, please don’t leave. Just take the picture, and I’ll stop insulting you, okay?"

Hearing her desperate plea, memories of all the times Sasha had humiliated me in front of our colleagues flooded my mind. She had called me worthless, a failure, unloved by anyone. And now she compared me to a filthy rat?

Rage swelled within me, consuming all reason.

Before I knew it, I had pinned Sasha against the wall, my body pressing into hers, my face inches from hers. My eyes burned with fury, and I growled like a beast, "Beg me. Beg me, and I’ll take the picture."