The light in the dressing room makes my eyes hurt.
As soon as I opened my eyes, a bunch of memories that didn't belong to me were stuffed into my mind, as if someone had knocked them in with a hammer. It hurts, like tearing pain, my temples are pounding, and my stomach is churning.
I stood up holding on to the dressing table, and a face that was too exquisite to behold was reflected in the mirror. She has big wavy hair, a black tube top dress, and a diamond-encrusted butterfly brooch on her collarbone. This outfit cost hundreds of thousands at least, but I couldn't care less about admiring it because the title of a novel came to my mind - "The President's Substitute Bride".
My mother's favorite pornographic novel.
