Victoria replied, "What are you to me? Isn't it obvious? Of course, you're a loser, a worthless piece of trash! Calvin, look in the mirror and ask yourself—are you even a man?"
In an instant, Calvin exploded, his eyes blazing with fury. "Victoria, you're my woman! I don't care whether you ever truly liked me; you belong to me! Sure, I can't compare to Reginald, and I'm no match for Andrew either! But so what? You're still mine, and now, I'm gonna prove to you just how much of a man I am!"
Roaring like a madman, Calvin's eyes turned lewd as he stared at Victoria's pale neck and her chest with blatant desire. At the same time, he began unzipping his pants, ready to force himself on her.
Victoria stood tall and still, proud as a black swan, her chin lifted high. She did not flinch or resist, just letting him do as he pleased.
Inside the living room of the Peck residence, Calvin had his pants down to his knees. His lower body was fully exposed—pale, flabby, and pathetic. There was nothing there worth boasting about.
As for the one thing that was supposed to prove his manhood, it could not even twitch.
Victoria lowered her eyes, glanced down, and a scornful, mocking smile slowly curled on her lips. "Just as useless as always, huh? So, Calvin, tell me… Do you still think you're a man?"
With a sneer, Victoria raised her hand and slapped away Calvin's hand in disgust. Then, she turned and walked out without another word.
Calvin stood frozen, his face as pale as a corpse. It was as if all the life had been sucked out of him. "Get hard! Come on, damn it, get hard! Please, just work!"
Like a lunatic, Calvin began slapping himself between the legs again and again, as if punishing a sworn enemy. He kept shouting, begging it to rise, yelling at it to respond. Yet, nothing worked.
All it did was jiggle uselessly.
In the end, Calvin collapsed onto the floor, clutching his head and sobbing like a child who had lost his favorite toy.
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