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Chapter 19 Part 1 Rules of the Game
"W‑what… what…? I… I don't really understand what you mean… what… what do you mean, climax?"
Clutching the hem of her uniform, Autumn froze.
The smile vanished from her eyes, leaving them blank and confused, hoping she had misheard the boy's request.
"Do I need to say it more plainly? Fine, I'll oblige you.
"Listen carefully: my request is that, here in this room, in front of me, no matter how you do it whether you finger your own pussy or whatever else as long as you climax once, I'll give you a huge boost in sales. How's that?"
Liam stated it clearly, word by word.
The serious, determined look in his eyes told her this was no joke.
What kind of twisted request is this?
*If he'd asked to fuck my pussy, I could at least understand it.
"But this demand for a 'climax performance'… what kind of perversion is that?*
Clearly, people with money live in a world we ordinary folks can't understand…
The money was tempting beyond belief, but her pride, her fidelity as a married woman, and her dignity as a mother made her hesitate.
"Young sir… could we… maybe change the request?
"I… I have a husband… and a child…
"I really can't do something that betrays my chastity like this…"
Drooping her lashes, she put on a troubled expression and recited the usual lines of a wife and mother, hoping to win his sympathy and swap in a more acceptable condition.
He cut her off with an impatient, palm‑up "stop" gesture.
"I don't care whether you have a family, or whether your kid is right outside.
"What I'm telling you is this: there's no free lunch.
"If you want big rewards, you pay an equivalent price.
"Besides…"
He swept his gaze slowly over her body.
Beneath the loose uniform lurked a lush figure: fabric strained over full breasts, leaving a hollow pocket of air at her midsection; wide hips and a round, plump ass she was built for sex.
He was certain that, stripped bare, her body would be no less satisfying than Wendy's or Jenna's.
Compared to his grandmothers, who were practically the gold standard of mature beauty, she was still a step below, but as a "dessert" before he conquered them, she was more than worthy.
After a short pause, he continued calmly,
"Madam, we've only just met, but from the look of you… I'd say your husband doesn't sleep with you much, does he?"
Rubbing his chin, he adopted the air of a strategist who saw everything.
In truth, he'd seen nothing at all he was gambling.
But he knew women like her, who worked constantly and took care of their families, rarely had the time or energy to indulge their desires.
Endless busy days dulled lust; fatigue numbed everything.
That's what he was targeting her buried loneliness.
"You… how do you know that?
"No what business is it of yours?"
Her cheeks flared with anger at the mention of such private matters.
For a moment she forgot he was a valued client; her brows knit, her smile vanished, and her eyes sharpened.
"Don't be in a rush to argue. Let me finish.
"As an ordinary woman, at home you have to play the good wife pressing his shirts, cooking his favorite soup, pampering him.
"In front of your child, you have to play the gentle mother hiding all your exhaustion, patiently looking after every little thing even when your eyelids are drooping.
"Here, you're also a diligent clerk.
"Every single day, it's your husband, your kid, making money, supporting the family, getting up early, repeating the same day, the same two points on a line…
"You've long forgotten you're a woman, haven't you?
"Always playing the roles you think are right, always holding yourself up.
"Aren't you tired?"
He spoke in a low, almost amused tone, each word hitting home.
It was another gamble.
On the surface he sounded casual; inside, his heart hammered.
He was terrified of failing and humiliating himself.
After all, he was still just a eighteen‑year‑old boy, copying scenes from Japanese AVs.
He had no idea if it would actually work.
Autumn's gaze had gone vacant, caught by his words.
"Am I tired?"
The question dropped into her heart like a long‑forgotten stone, shattering her calm surface and sending waves crashing.
She wanted to deny it, but her throat closed.
No sound came out.
Scenes flickered through her mind:
Waking up at five‑thirty before the alarm, silently shuffling to the kitchen to make porridge.
Evenings after picking up her son, juggling homework help while watching the stew so it wouldn't burn.
Customers nitpicking, her husband complaining about the food, her child whining for toys and she always answered with "It's fine," "Alright," "Mommy's coming."
Somewhere along the way, she'd become a machine, stripped of the most basic emotion desire.
Seeing her drift into thought, Liam knew his words had landed.
He'd only enlarged the fatigue in her heart, and while his technique wasn't nearly as refined as real con artists who could spin any woman around their finger, it was enough.
He understood how adulthood bound people with work and family, stealing freedom.
There were joys too, of course time with family, laughter among friends but he deliberately skipped those and dug up the frustration buried in her chest, guiding her thoughts toward the loneliness and exhaustion he needed.
"Don't you want to let go and be a real woman just once?
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