?Chapter 691:


    To her dismay, the door was firmly locked, rendering her efforts futile. Without the key, she was unable to escape.


    Covertly, she retrieved her phone with her free hand, intending to contact her assistant discreetly. She hesitated to involve the police, fearing the situation would escte.


    The director noticed her actions and smirked disdainfully.


    “Cease your futile efforts. Your assistant is fetching coffee and won’t return for at least half an hour. You are at my mercy now!” He advanced menacingly toward Rosalee, causing her to scream in terror.


    In a frenzy, she grabbed the broom leaning against the door and swung it with all her might, only for it to be swiftly intercepted and tossed aside by the director.


    In her panic, she blurted out without thinking, “If youy a finger on me, I’ll call the cops and take you to court. The Boyd family won’t let you off easy!”


    “Go ahead and call the cops.”


    As the director advanced, Rosalee felt his menacing presence drawing closer. Her costume was on the verge of falling, with her left shoulder dangerously exposed.


    The director’s throat tightened. Rosalee’s looks and figure stood out among all the neers in the entertainment industry. He couldn’t help but fall for her. Without him, Rosalee wouldn’t have gotten the role.


    Of course, he had done it to get closer to her.


    gα?ησν????s is where imagination thrives


    Rosalee sat huddled in a corner. Her hair was a mess, and her dress was torn in several ces. The director’s eyes roved over her bare skin.


    Rosalee’s hand brushed against a stick on the floor, and she quickly pulled it back. The director leaned in, breathing heavily near her neck.


    “Well, that’s good. Behave, and I can give you everything Hans can offer. Ouch!”


    Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his lower body, followed by a hard blow to his head. The director doubled over, clutching himself.


    Rosalee took her chance. She kicked him hard, sprang up, grabbed the key from the table, and rushed to the door, trying to unlock it.


    However, the director yanked her hair brutally. She yelped in pain and fell backward, the key slipping from her grasp.


    “Damn it, you bitch! You hit me with a stick? Seriously?” With a swift motion, the director seized the stick and delivered a harsh blow to Rosalee’s head.


    But fate had other ns. A nail protruded from the stick, leaving a deep scratch across her face, from her eye to her chin. Rosalee, dazed, touched her bloodied face, the pain spreading rapidly through her body.


    .


    .


    .