Meanwhile, Alexa's condition was possibly the worst of all. The moment William's maids shoved a bucket and brush into her hands, her pride cracked like glass. She, the once-perfect socialite in a blazing red gown, was now on her knees scrubbing a toilet floor that stank of disinfectant and filth.
Her nose wrinkled, her face twisted in disgust as she scrubbed at the grime that clung to the edges of the tiles. The floor was cold, her gown was dragging against it, and every stroke of the brush scraped her dignity away.
Her fingers, once adorned with expensive rings, now clutched a filthy rag. Her delicate manicured nails, painted to perfection just hours ago, were ruined as dirty water splashed back onto her hands.
Worst of all were the women who came deliberately, pretending they needed to "retouch their makeup." In truth, they had come for the show.
