I woke up with a feeling of nausea.
My stomach was churning, and my head was so heavy that I couldn't lift it up. It felt like a hangover or a slap in the face. I instinctively wanted to raise my hand to rub my temples, but my fingertips touched a piece of cold silk - a pillow? No, this feels like high-thread-count silk.
My eyes shot open.
The crystal chandelier above my head reflected tiny pieces of light in the morning light, making me squint my eyes. European-style carved bedposts, off-white silk sheets, a bouquet of fresh white roses on the bedside table, and a cold yet high-end woody fragrance filled the room.
This is not my rental.
The nine-square-meter small single room I rented had a leaky ceiling, cracked walls, and three storage boxes stacked on the bedside as tables. I was woken up every morning by the smell of oil smoke from the fried dough stick stall downstairs. It had nothing in common with this room.
I sat up, the quilt slipped from my shoulders, and I found that I was wearing a burgundy suspender nightgown, and there was even a faint red mark on my collarbone. My mind exploded with a "buzzing" sound - what's going on? ! I worked overtime until three in the morning yesterday and fell asleep at my workstation. Why did I...
Before I had time to think about it, a cold electronic sound exploded in my mind.
