I flinched hard.
"Sorry… Queen Penelope."
That made her smile.
Laura snickered. "Penny, you didn't correct her."
That's what they called abuse—correction.
But Penny surprised us both. She flipped her glossy hair over her shoulder and smirked. "I can't ruin my soft hands on her," she said. "I'm saving them for my man to kiss."
Laura lit up like Penny had just ended world hunger. "That's my girl."
"When he sees these sweet, untouched hands," Penny said, raising them like royalty, "he'll want to lick them all day."
It was a performance. A cruel one.
There was a rumor—one of the Caelum brothers had a condition. Something strange. His mouth constantly tasted bitter.
Some believed it was Alek. Others said Adonis. A few whispered about the third brother, the one no one had seen.
The story made half the city chase after them, hoping their kiss would be the one he could stomach.
And now Penny had joined the chase.
She had destroyed my uniform that morning. She ripped it straight down the front. Without it, I couldn't get into the party. I couldn't work. I couldn't leave.
She had known exactly what she was doing.
"You ruined everything," I whispered, my throat tight. "This was my chance."
"You're treated like this because you're beneath me," she said, without emotion.
"That's not true."
The word escaped before I could stop it. It rang out, small but solid.
Penny's eyes darkened. She stepped forward slowly, wrapped her fingers around my throat, and smiled like she'd won something.
"You stupid bitch," she hissed. "Own up to your place."
Her grip tightened, cutting off my air. I clawed at her wrists, panic exploding in my chest. My vision blurred—tiny lights sparkled across the edges. My knees buckled.
I shoved her.
Not violently, just enough to breathe again.
She stumbled back, and for a brief moment, she was stunned. Then I saw the fury distorted her face again and I knew I was going to die now.
She stormed toward me and shoved me harder, the force slammed me into the wall, so hard the impact echoed through my spine. I hit the ground, dazed, the back of my head was pulsing with pain.
She stood over me, with that stupid smug and satisfied grin.
"Next time, don't speak unless you're spoken to," she said, grabbing my chin and twisting my face aside.
I reached for my glasses. One lens had already cracked.
"Don't show your face at the party," Laura added, her voice ringing like a command.
I nodded.
It was safer that way.
They walked out, still laughing. As if none of it had been real.
But it was.
Today was supposed to be my first step toward freedom. My first chance at a job. My first escape from this place.
Now I had nothing.
And worse than that, I had no one.
...
I made my way down the stairs, each step shooting pain up my back like a slow-burning fire.
The house was already alive. Maids hurried past, decorations glimmered, gold and navy spilled across the walls.
The Caelums weren't even here yet, but their name drifted on every whisper like perfume.
I kept my head down.
"Watch it!" a maid snapped, nearly tripping as she balanced two trays of crystal glassware.
"Sorry," I murmured.
I didn't want to be noticed. I didn't want to exist at all.
The others were too busy talking to care. They whispered about the brothers—who would show up, who they might dance with, who they might kiss.
My room was near the back of the house, squeezed between the maids' hallway and a storage closet. There were no windows. No light. Barely enough room to lie flat.
But it was mine.
Once, I wasn't so alone. Once, I had Carrie.
She brushed my hair while I cried. Let me share her blanket when my bruises were too raw to lie in my own bed.
And then I found out.
She was sleeping with my father.
I wasn't angry for Laura's sake. My stepmother deserved every betrayal that came her way.
But Carrie had been my only kindness.
And he had taken that from me, too.
Now she was walking straight toward me in the hallway, her eyes were full of guilt and something too close to pity.
I stopped moving.
She opened her mouth to speak.
"No," I said before she could.
"Pops—" she began.
I turned to face her, my voice brittle and loud. "You slept with my father."
She panicked and reached for me, while she pressed a hand to my mouth. "You don't have to say it out loud," she whispered, glancing around.
I pushed her hand away and turned to walk. I was limping now. The bruises under my clothes had started to bloom.
"You're being so judgmental," she called after me.
That made me stop. I turned, slowly.
"Yes, Carrie," I said. "I am judging you. Because I'm not like you."
Her face fell. She tucked a red strand of hair behind her ear, just like she always did when she was nervous.
"You can't stop love," she whispered.
That was the second betrayal—the way she used that word.
"Then maybe stop calling it love," I said.
I turned and walked away.
I slammed the door behind me. Not just because I was angry. I was. But the sound gave me power.
I stood with my forehead pressed against the door. I listened until I heard her footsteps fade away.
Then I breathed.
My room was barely big enough for a bed. The window didn't open, and the one bulb flickered when it rained.
The only thing that was truly mine was a small box under the mattress. Inside were coins, scraps of old birthday cards, and a photo of my real mother.
She died when I was six. The only memory I have is her humming. I don't remember the tune—just that it made me feel safe.
I stared at the photo now. She was beautiful.
Not like Penny's kind of beautiful—loud and sharp.
My mother had soft and kind eyes.
She would've gotten me out of here.
If she were alive, I wouldn't be cleaning up Penny's tissues or hiding bruises under foundation that doesn't match my skin tone.
I walked to the bathroom and opened the cabinet. I pushed through the chaos: tampons, old makeup brushes, forgotten bottles of lotion.
Finally, I found the painkillers.
I took one.
Then another.
And a third. I didn't care how many. I just wanted the pain to stop.
I stood and closed the mirror cabinet.
That's when I saw the girl in the mirror.
My blonde hair was tangled and oily. My lips were cracked. My glasses were broken on one side, slipping down the bridge of my nose.
My eyes were hollow, and the dark circles beneath them had returned.
They always came back.
Especially after nights like these—nights where I stayed up too late, texting someone who would never meet me in person.
He wasn't my boyfriend. He wasn't even my friend. But we'd been sending messages for weeks.
He was the only person who made me feel like I was wanted and desired.
So Laura was wrong.
And Penny was wrong.
Someone could love me.