I pressed my palm flat against the wall and stared at the door, hoping desperately for a single moment of peace, time to process what just happened before I lose it.
But I spoke too soon.
The door groaned open.
Fucking again.
This time, there was no warning knock. The door swung open and a maid, a different one, with dark circles under her eyes so dark they looked like bruises, stumbled in. Realizing her mistake, her gaze snapping to me where I stood against the wall, panic flooded her features.
I looked at her, really looked. She looked, I don't know, out of it. Her shoulders were slumped, and there was a tiredness behind her eyes that spoke of someone who'd been pushed to their limit. She might have been working the whole day. A sudden tightness gripped my chest.
"S-Sorry, Miss," she muttered, her voice strained with fear.
She pushed a trolley with clothes, her knuckles white on the handle. She didn't stare, but I could feel how hard she tried not to, her eyes darting everywhere around the room except where I stood.
The familiarity of this was a punch in the gut. At the Riviera, I was isolated because I was her toy. Everyone knew to stay away, afraid Isabella's gaze would shift to them if they so much as glanced in my direction.
So they avoided me like the plague.
And now, I'm isolated because of the title I wear. My throat closed up.
Funny.
She moved to Malcolm's closet and began unloading the trolley with rushed movements. Silk dresses, blouses, tailored pants, and skirts, each piece was more expensive and beautiful than the last. I watched, my eyes widening with every item she placed in the closet.
Was that... was that all for me? They couldn't be serious.
She suddenly stood up straight as if electrocuted, her eyes wide with a fresh wave of terror. "I'm so sorry!" she blurted out, taking a step toward me, then thinking better of it and backing away. "The instructions, they keep changing! First, I was just to put the clothes away, but then Mrs. Lyle grabbed me in the hall and said I had to get you ready, that it's urgent, that Miss Elora has called for a tea party this afternoon and all the influential wives will be there, the wives of every Don, every Underboss, and you have to be there, and you have to look perfect, and I'm just supposed to make that happen and I've never even dressed a Lady before, let alone for something like this, and if I get it wrong-"
The words tumbled out of her in a panic. I watched, completely overstimulated. The ghost of Malcolm's kiss still on my lips, the feel of his hands on my waist, and now this, this girl having a freaking meltdown right here. I pushed off the wall and crossed the room, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder.
"Chill out," I muttered, trying to sound soothing but my voice strained with panic.
She was freaking me out.
She flinched under my touch. "I'm so sorry, Miss!"
"Just... take a deep breath," I told her, my voice softer.
She did as I said, a shaky inhale. God, the workload here had to be insane. At the Rivera mansion, you had one task. If you were a kitchen maid, you were a kitchen maid. If you were meant for the garden, or... my stomach twisted... a pleasure maid, the worst one. They didn't make you do each other's tasks. But here? It seemed you did whatever was needed to be done, even if it meant taking up twenty different tasks in a single day. It was insane.
She calmed slightly, offering me a nervous smile. "I'll go take a bath," I murmured to her. "And you can get my clothes ready for the event, okay?"
She shook her head violently. "No, Miss. I have to bathe you."
My brows furrowed. Heck no. Not again. The memory of the maids scrubbing my skin raw yesterday raised bile in my throat. "No," I told her, my voice firm. "No one has to know."
Her wide, terrified eyes told me she had been given clear instructions to bathe me. I clenched my jaw, my anger rising.
"Look," I said, leaning closer. "Don't think about it. Get my clothes ready, I'll take a quick bath, and we both don't get in trouble. Deal?"
"Deal," she muttered, the word a puff of relieved air. She scurried away from me, back to the trolley, her breaths still heavy as she began arranging a collection of shoes so beautiful I had never imagined them in my wildest dreams. Shoes like that, dresses of that material... they were now supposedly mine. Something I used to hold when I packed Isabella's clothes, my hands clinging to the soft fabric for a second, knowing I could never have it, never even want it. But now, in a day, I had it all.
I escaped into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click. I leaned against it, the cool door a relief against my flushed back.
Pushing away from the door, I moved towards the bathtub, drawing a ragged breath. I had to hurry. I couldn't get that maid in trouble. The image of what they had done to Isabella, her bloody hands, flashed through my eyes. The thought was a cold splash of reality. Who knew what they would do to her?
I twisted the tap, watching the hot water gush into the tub. Steam rose, clouding the mirror, but it couldn't cloud my mind. Malcolm's face flashed behind my eyelids. The feel of his lips on my neck, the hard ridge of him pressed against my back-
No. No, no, we are not doing this. Absolutely not. Don't think about it. Don't. Think. About. It.
I gave my head a hard shake, as if I could physically remove the memory. I yanked off Kaden's soft shirt, then the red dress I'd been forced into yesterday, the fabric flowing to the floor. Until I was just... me. Naked and cold.
Dipping a foot into the water, the heat soothed my tense muscles. I wanted nothing more than to sink into it, lay there forever until my bones became jelly.
But I couldn't. It would get that maid out there in trouble.
I grabbed the first bottle of shampoo I saw. Lavender. Then a conditioner, jasmine. It was like they'd prepared the entire bathroom for a queen. Rows of scented oils, perfumes in crystal bottles, towels so plush and thick they felt like clouds against the skin.
I finished rinsing my hair, my movements rushed, and grabbed one of the towels, wrapping it tightly around myself. The door clicked open.
"Oh! Sorry!" the maid shrieked, slapping a hand over her eyes but remaining in the doorway. "I-I brought your clothes. I've left them on the stool!" And then she was gone, the door slamming shut, rushing out as if the hounds of hell were at her heels.
A small smile stretched across my face.
She was silly.
I dropped the towel and reached for the jasmine-scented oil, smoothing the lotion over my skin until it gleamed. Then I looked at the clothes she'd left. A simple pink floral dress. This one was... better compared to that dress, if I could even call it a dress, they forced me into yesterday.
I put it on. The fabric was light and airy, falling to my knees. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a damp mess of curls. I grabbed a brush but hesitated, my scalp still throbbing from all the grabbing yesterday.
It was just a tea party, anyway, I tried to convince myself. Nothing fancy. But then his voice, clear and loud, echoed in my head.
Every single fucking thing you do is a reflection of us.
My stomach clenched, a knot of pure dread.
I wasn't scared of him. I...wasn't.
My fingers tightened on the brush.It's my hair. I'll wear it how I want. I yanked my hair into a simple, messy bun, gave myself one last glance. The pink dress left my collarbone bare, hugged my waist, and flowed down to my knees. My hair was tied up, with stray strands already escaping to curl against my forehead and neck.
I felt like myself.
I barely had a moment to take a full breath after stepping out of the bathroom before the maid was on me, her movements panicked.
Again.
"Four minutes, Miss. We have four minutes," she breathed, the words tumbling out, barely breathing. She hurried towards me, a pair of heels in her hands, her gaze fixed on her task.
In her panic, she barely registered that I hadn't styled my hair, that it was already escaping the messy bun. She just saw a job half-done and a clock ticking.
She dropped to her knees, her hands trembling as she helped me into the heels. My feet were still tender from yesterday; a hiss escaped my lips as she guided them on.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with apology for the pain she was causing due to the rush.
Before I could even find my balance, she grabbed my hand. Her grip was tight with fear. "We have to run, Miss. Now."
And then she was pulling me, and I was stumbling, my new heels already traitors. Her hold was the only thing keeping me upright as she dragged me out of the room and into the hall.
We moved down the long hallway, our hurried footsteps echoing on the ground. Maids in uniforms moved out of our way, startled, pressing themselves against the walls, their eyes downcast. A chorus of muted "Good morning, Miss" followed in our trail, making my skin crawl.
Nothing will ever get me used to that.
Down the staircase we went, a descent past oil paintings of people, I'm assuming. I squinted my eyes. Maybe ancestors hung on the walls, and from the look of the scary-looking men at the far end of the stairway.
He was definitely judging, kicking in his grave, judging his sons or nephews or whatever, why they even chose me as their bride.
I had no idea too. Scary-looking men painting, no idea at all.
The servants dusted, polished; every single surface and every inch of floor was perfect for the day. She pulled me down, my body tilting with every step. The crystal chandeliers above brightened the mansion.
"The men are gone for the day," she whispered, her breath coming in ragged puffs as she practically dragged me. "On a... visit. Mr. Vitali said the Carlos family forgot their manners. Didn't pay for the shipment."
A coldness hit me; the memory of the wedding, the cries, the sounds of bodies hitting the ground, the blood, so much blood. My hand trembled in the maid's grip.
She noticed, peeking at me from the corner of her eye. She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, assuming I was worried about the tea party. "You should not worry," she insisted.
I just nodded. I didn't want to think, didn't want to remember. "What's your name?" I finally managed to ask, the question an attempt to block the unwanted thoughts.
"Kacie, Miss," she said, before tugging me harder. "Come on!"
We burst through a set of double doors and into the main entrance.
Two guards,armed, stood like statues by the front doors. They moved in unison, swinging them open without a word, their faces blank. A stream of sunlight cut across the floor.
"Thank you," I whispered quietly as I passed.
Outside, the sun shone bright, and waiting,parked on the driveway, was the car. The windows tinted black, hiding whatever watched from within.
Kacie released my hand as if my skin had burned her. She stumbled back a step, her chest heaving. "You must go in now. Quickly. Stephanie doesn't like waiting." She gestured frantically to the car's back door. "She will be accompanying you."
My blood ran cold. All I had was
Stephanie.
You have got to be kidding me.
*****
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