"Victor, I didn't see you when I woke up. I missed you so much."

Victor ruffled the top of her hair and leaned down to press a kiss against it.

But even as he did, his gaze stayed fixed on me from the corner of his eye.

When he saw that my expression remained perfectly indifferent, he finally couldn't hold back. His words carried a pointed edge.

"I just love how sweet and attentive Fern is. Unlike some people, who walk around with a permanent scowl, like the whole world owes them a fortune."

With that, he scooped Fern up in his arms and set her back on the bed.

Then he lifted his chin and jerked it in my direction.

"Come here. Put Fern's shoes on for her."

I didn't move.

The two of them sat side by side on the edge of the bed. One wore a smug grin. The other was waiting for a show.

I lowered my eyes as a sudden, sharp sting lanced through my chest.

He'd always been reckless. He went through women like he went through clothes, and no scenario was too outrageous for him to act out.

But he had never humiliated me like this.

That was why, time after time, I'd been furious at his wasted potential yet couldn't help indulging him anyway.

Now, he wanted to grind my face beneath his mistress's feet.

I looked up at him.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Victor, if you actually force me to go through with this, there will be no coming back for us. Not ever."

Something flickered in those eyes that were always so carelessly defiant. A flash of bewilderment.

It was as if he were thinking:

This isn't how it's supposed to go.

I was supposed to charge at him with tears in my eyes, screaming that he was shameless, that he was a bastard.

Then slap him and Fern across the face.

Not stand here like this, calm as still water.

"I—"

He barely got the word out before Fern's silky voice cut in.

"Victor, you're not going soft again, are you? Have you already forgotten what she did to you?"

The confusion in his eyes faded, replaced by that familiar, mocking indifference.

"Get over here. Don't make me say it a third time."

I still didn't move.

My mind kept circling back. What exactly had I done to him that made him so determined to drag me into this twisted game?

Maybe it was the last time he'd pulled one of his rescue-the-damsel stunts. I'd slapped him across the face in front of his whole entourage without a second thought, humiliating him completely.

Or maybe it went further back than that. A deal he'd thrown everything at and still couldn't close, one I'd wrapped up without breaking a sweat.

Or maybe further still. Back in school, when he'd burned the midnight oil until his eyes were bloodshot, only to find my name sitting above his on every final exam ranking.

Embarrassment after embarrassment. Comparison after comparison.

Slowly wearing away every last thread of the bond we'd shared since childhood.

A haze settled over my thoughts.

I remembered a time even earlier, when I was only ten. I'd slipped and fallen into the pool at the Delgado estate.

He was the first one to jump in. He'd nearly killed himself hauling me to the surface.

He'd swallowed so much water that day he passed out. And when he came to, the first words out of his mouth were:

"Is Lorraine okay?"

Now, everything had changed. The place was the same, but the people were strangers.

Thinking of that old debt, the life he'd saved, I walked forward and bent down to pick up the slippers by the bed.

The instant my fingertips touched the edge of the shoe, a rush of air swept past my ear.

Victor kicked my hand away. The force sent me stumbling backward, and I hit the floor hard.

My wrist cracked against the bed frame. I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth.

"Lorraine, you're pathetic!"

He towered over me, chest heaving, glaring down with something churning in his eyes that I couldn't read.

"I told you to do it and you just did it? Since when are you this obedient?"

I braced a hand against the floor and pushed myself to my feet, rubbing my wrist with my eyes cast down.

I had no idea what had set him off this time.

He was the one who'd forced me to do it. I'd done it. And now he was the one who was angry.

Victor ground his teeth, each word forced out like it physically pained him.

"Get out. I don't want to look at you."

Fine by me.

I didn't spare him another glance and turned to leave.

Just before bed, the butler knocked on my door.

Eugene Lambert stood there holding a tube of ointment in both hands, saying he'd noticed my wrist was injured and had come to deliver it personally.

I took it and set it on the nightstand without a second thought.

Victor's temper had grown increasingly erratic over the years. None of the staff dared do anything on their own initiative in front of him.

Who had sent this ointment was obvious without asking.

But I didn't dare use it.

The last time he'd sent me eye drops, he'd laced them with hot pepper oil.

My eyes had swollen nearly shut for days. He'd sat there the whole time with his arms around his latest fling, laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

Eugene lingered at the door, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating.

"Just say what's on your mind, Eugene."

He sighed.

"Miss Winfield, the truth is, Mr. Delgado does care about you. It's just..."

"He's never known how to express himself, not since he was a boy. The more someone matters to him, the less he knows how to treat them right."

I didn't respond. I waved him out.

My gaze dropped to the tube of ointment. I stared at it for a long time without moving.

Victor loved me?

Maybe.

But his love was thin and twisted.

It meant breaking my wings, turning me into a vine that could only survive by clinging to him, all so he could dole out the barest scraps of affection in return.

Love like that wasn't worth having.

The next morning, Victor was already sitting in the dining room when I came downstairs.

His eyes caught the red marks still visible on my wrist, and his expression darkened instantly.

"Lorraine, I don't think you're hurting enough."

He stood, seized my wrist, and examined it closely, his grip so tight it layered fresh pain over the old.

"Since it doesn't hurt enough, go make Fern her breakfast."

"She's picky. I want both American and continental, and I don't want a single thing missing."

I said nothing. I turned and walked into the kitchen, lighting the stove with practiced ease.

My cooking was decent, actually.

Victor used to skip breakfast entirely. I'd make it myself and bring it to his office, standing over him until he finished every bite.

Behind me, a searing gaze pinned itself to my back.

I didn't turn around.

The stare didn't vanish until footsteps came pattering down the stairs.

"Why'd you come down without your shoes again?"

His voice dripped with indulgence.

"I woke up and you weren't there. I got worried and came looking for you."

That kind of clingy, helpless talk was exactly what Victor ate up.

He scooped her into his arms and carried her back to the couch in the dining room.

"Lorraine, hurry it up. Don't let Fern go hungry."

I didn't answer. I brought the finished breakfast out and set it in front of Fern.

Then I headed for the door.

I'd barely taken two steps when Fern's soft little voice floated up behind me.

Victor didn't even think. He raised his voice immediately.

"Someone stop her."

Two bodyguards in black stepped in front of me again.

He lounged on the couch, tilting his chin up to look at me with lazy contempt.

"Fern's given you an order. Why aren't you doing what she says?"

I glanced down at my watch.

Eight forty. The meeting was at nine thirty.

"I'm going to be late for work. I really don't have time for this nonsense."

The word nonsense hit a nerve with surgical precision.

Victor's face went cold. His voice dropped to ice.

"Judy Lambert. Go bring me a cup of freshly brewed tea. Bring it yourself."

Judy's face went white, but she didn't dare refuse.

She returned moments later with a cup of tea, steam still curling thick from the surface.

Victor's eyes locked onto mine. His words came slow and deliberate.

"Lorraine, you're going to take this tea and serve it. Willingly or not, you're going to serve it. And if you refuse, then Judy holds it until you do."

"If the tea gets cold, pour fresh boiling water and brew another cup. Keep going until you're willing to take it, kneel, and serve it properly."

My fingernails dug hard into my palms, leaving deep crescent marks.

When I was five, both my parents died in a car accident. I came to the Delgado household all alone.

It was Judy who raised me, one spoonful of rice and one sip of soup at a time.

She was the housekeeper in name, but in my heart, she was no different from a mother.

Victor knew all of this.

When we were young, he'd even made me a promise:

"I know how much Judy means to you. When you marry me, I'll have her be the one to walk you down the aisle and place your hand in mine."

Now, she'd become the weakness he used to control me.

A bitter smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I took the scalding teacup.

Fern reached out to accept it.

But Victor blocked her with a subtle gesture.

Her eyes darted, and she understood instantly. She giggled and leaned back into his arms, watching me with open amusement.

The minutes crawled by.

The outer wall of the cup burned my fingertips red, but he just lounged there, lazily stroking Fern's hair, as though he'd forgotten the whole thing.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.

What came out of his mouth was:

"Can't you see the tea's gone cold?"

"Pour more hot water in. Don't stop until I say so."

Someone stepped forward and picked up the freshly boiled kettle.

A stream of scalding water poured into the teacup, filling it until it overflowed, spilling entirely over the hands I held the cup with.

The skin on the backs of my hands turned red at a visible pace, and fine blisters rose almost immediately.

Victor leaned back against the sofa with no intention of telling them to stop.

One cup. Two cups. Three cups.

My hands trembled harder and harder.

Water sloshed over the rim, and the burns spread, one patch bleeding into the next.

When the pain had grown so unbearable I could barely hold on, Victor finally raised his eyes.

He stared at my shaking hands for a moment, then let out a cold, derisive laugh.

"Boring."

He stood, scooped Fern up in his arms, and walked upstairs without looking back.

"Oh, and Miss Winfield is far too precious for our family's ointment. None of you are to help her."

I didn't want to cause trouble for Judy.

When she moved toward me, I shook my head gently.

I walked out of the Delgado mansion alone.

I forced myself through an entire meeting before I finally found the time to go to the hospital.

After my wounds were treated, I had just stepped out of the exam room when I ran straight into Fern, coming out of the OB-GYN department.

She clearly saw me too.

Her gaze circled the heavy bandaging wrapped around my right hand, and she strolled over in no particular hurry.

I had no interest in engaging with her and turned to leave.

She reached out and blocked my path.

"Lorraine, do yourself a favor and stop clinging to the Delgado family."

I looked down at her.

Young. Pretty. Eyes brimming with barely concealed smugness.

I'd seen that look far too many times.

"Do you have any idea how many women Victor has brought home before you?"

Fern's expression stiffened.

Of course she knew.

Victor Delgado went through women the way most men went through shirts. Everyone in Riverton knew that.

But she recovered quickly, a smile curling her lips.

"So what? Before, when he was with other women, he never let any of them drag you into it."

"But this time, he humiliated you like that because of me."

She leaned closer, tugging the collar of her shirt down with one hand.

Below her collarbone, the skin was mottled with red marks.

"See these? Every single one of these was left by Victor."

"I'm sure you can imagine just how intense things get between us."

I looked at those marks, and I was surprised by how calm I felt.

I could even manage a smile that passed for polite.

"Then I wish you... everything you're hoping for."