Olivia’ s handprint throbbed on my cheek.
She picked up a small, porcelain figurine from a nearby table.
She examined it, then looked at me.
“You know, Ethan thinks I’m so fragile,
” she said, her voice dripping with
sarcasm.
She threw the figurine.
It shattered against the wall near my head.
“But I’m stronger than I look.”
I didn’t finch.
I had expected this. Or something like it.
The money. I had to remember the money.
For Lily.
“Yes, Ms. Vance,
” I said, my voice carefully neutral.
The day was a blur of torment.
Olivia made me scrub the vast marble floors of the penthouse with a tiny
toothbrush.
“My therapist says repetitive, mindless tasks can be very calming,
” she said,
watching me with a smirk. “I thought you could use some calm.”
She made me re-polish silverware that already gleamed.
She had me organize her walk-in closet, then re-organize it.
She “accidentally” spilled coee on a white silk rug and made me clean it, on
my hands and knees, with only water and a small cloth.
She critiqued my every move, my posture, my tone of voice.
Verbal barbs, sharp and constant.
“You’re so clumsy, Sarah. Did your parents teach you anything?”
“Ethan says you were once promising. Hard to believe.”
“That dress is hideous. Don’t you own anything decent?”
The other household sta, a stern-faced housekeeper and a quiet chef,
watched with pity.
During a rare moment when Olivia was napping, the housekeeper, Mrs.
Davies, approached me.
“Be careful, dear,
” she whispered. “She’s sweetness and light when Mr. Hayes
is around. But she’s a viper otherwise. Jealous. And she knows who you are.
She knows about your past with him.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Just keep your head down. And don’t let her break you.”
Break me? I was already broken. I was just trying to hold the pieces together
for Lily.
I thought of Lily in her hospital bed.
Her small, trusting face.
Her courage.
I could endure this. I had to.
For her.
Ethan returned in the evening.
Olivia transformed instantly.
The cruel smirk vanished, replaced by a soft, vulnerable smile.
She rushed to him, leaning into his embrace.
“Oh, Ethan, darling, I missed you so much,” she cooed. “It was such a long
day.”
She glanced at me, a flicker of triumph in her eyes.
Ethan held her close.
“How are you feeling, my love?” he asked, his voice tender.
“A little tired. Sarah was… helpful.”
He looked at me, a brief, unreadable glance.
They shared a kiss, a long, lingering kiss.
It was for my benefit, I knew. A display of their intimacy, their bond.
He stroked her hair.
“I want you strong for our wedding, Olivia. We won’t rush things. No stress.
We’ll save all the… excitement… for then.”
His words were for her, but his eyes flickered to me for a second, a dark
promise in their depths.
Olivia giggled, nestling closer.
Later, Ethan went to his study.
Olivia was in her room, supposedly resting.
I was in the kitchen, cleaning up after the chef.
My body ached. My spirit felt raw.
Ethan’ s study door opened. He walked towards the master suite, then paused.
He went to the large, industrial fridge and poured himself a glass of ice water.
He drank it quickly, his back to me.
He seemed tense.
I tried to be invisible, scrubbing a pot with unnecessary vigor.
He turned.
He saw me.
I had accidentally walked into the laundry room, adjacent to the kitchen, to
put away some cleaning supplies.
It was a small, windowless space.
He followed me in.
He blocked the doorway.
His demeanor shifted.
The polite, concerned fiancé was gone.
His eyes were dark, predatory.
He smelled faintly of expensive cologne and something else, something
dangerous.
“Still here?” he murmured.
He stepped closer. I was trapped between him and a row of washing machines.
“You know,
” he said, his voice a low growl. “We have unfinished business.”
He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw.
I finched.
“What’s the big deal?” he whispered, his breath hot on my ear. “We’ve done
this before. Many times.”
His hand slid down my neck, to my shoulder.
“I’ll pay you extra. How much do you want, Sarah?”
My stomach churned.
Horror, cold and sharp, pierced through my numbness.
I remembered our past.
Even when we were “in love,
” our intimate moments had often felt… o.
In cramped backseats of cars, in dusty, forgotten corners of buildings he was
thinking of buying.
Never in a soft bed, never with tenderness.
Always a hint of something degrading, something that felt like he was
asserting control, not sharing aection.
Now, I saw it clearly. It was a pattern.
He grabbed my wrists, his grip like iron.
He pushed me against a washing machine.
“Don’t fight me, Sarah. You know you want this.”
His mouth crushed mine.
It was not a kiss. It was an assault.
Cold.
Violent.
No tenderness. Just raw, brutal conquest.
He took what he wanted.
Over and over.
When he was finally done, he stepped back, adjusting his clothes.
He looked at me, my clothes disheveled, tears streaming down my face.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash.
He tossed it onto the floor at my feet.
“Still know how to please a man, I see,
” he said, his voice laced with
contempt.
“Don’t let Olivia find out about this. Or you’ll regret it. Severely.”
He walked out, leaving me shattered, trembling.
My fingers, numb, fumbled to pick up the scattered bills.
Money for Lily.
The price of my soul.