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."

With that, I turned and walked away.

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing off the noise from the corridor.

She was right about some things, and wrong about others.

Victor really didn't allow other women to drag me into his twisted roleplay games.

But those women still came looking for me anyway.

Over the years, there had been at least six or seven of them.

They'd show up covered in marks, strutting around and demanding I step aside.

And I'd gone from being devastated at first, to furious and bitter, to what I felt now: nothing at all.

I got into the car and closed my eyes, exhausted.

My phone buzzed.

It was a message from Laurel Delgado.

Lorraine, your uncle and I are flying into Riverton the day after tomorrow at 3 PM. Godfrey is coming back with us this time.

Godfrey Delgado.

The future heir of the Delgado family, and my new fiancé.

I stared at the name for two seconds, then typed back a single word: Okay.

As the workday wound down, I gathered my files and got ready to leave.

When I looked up, I noticed a small cluster of people huddled outside my office door, whispering among themselves.

The moment I stood, they scattered.

I pulled the door open and stopped one of them.

"What's going on?"

She stammered for a while before finally holding her phone out to me.

On the screen was a group chat I wasn't part of.

Pinned at the top was a photo of me crouching on the floor, reaching for a pair of slippers.

The angle was deliberately chosen to make it look like I was kneeling at Fern's feet, putting her shoes on for her.

Dozens of messages had piled up beneath it:

Oh my God, Lorraine acts so untouchable at the office. Turns out this is what she's really like?

I'm dying. We all thought she was above it all, but she's just Victor Delgado's little lapdog.

With the kind of family the Delgados are, an orphan like her marrying into that is basically winning the lottery.

A rush of heat surged to the top of my skull. I forced it back down.

I took a deep breath, turned around, and left.

When I got back to the Delgado house, Victor was on the couch with his arm around Fern, watching TV.

He heard me come in but didn't bother turning around.

"So you finally decided to come home?"

I set my bag down hard on the entryway console and walked straight up to him.

"Delete the photos. Retract those messages."

Only then did Victor slowly turn his head. He didn't address what I'd said at all.

"Lorraine, I called Mom today."

"I had no idea you loved me that much. She let it slip that the day after tomorrow, they're officially announcing that you're marrying into the Delgado family."

"What, you saw how good I've been to Fern and you finally couldn't take it anymore?"

I said nothing.

He went on, talking to himself more than to me.

"Since you're going to marry me, you can quit your job."

"Stay home like a good girl. Be a housewife. Take care of me. That's what you should be doing."

I watched his mouth move and felt the absurdity of it wash over me.

I'd graduated top of my class in business.

I'd pulled countless all-nighters to close deals.

He'd seen all of it with his own eyes.

And he still wanted to cage me at home.

Like a bird with clipped wings, locked away.

I took out my phone and opened my chat with Laurel.

I sent her the screenshot.

Don't wait for the press conference the day after tomorrow. Announce the marriage now.

Her reply came instantly:

You poor thing. I'll have my assistant take care of it right away.

I locked the screen and slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Victor was still talking.

He'd moved on from housewife duties to having children.

"Two at least. One boy and one girl would be ideal."

"Fern says babies are annoying when they cry, so you'll handle all of that. It's not like you'll have a job anyway."

He went on for a solid five minutes.

By the time his throat ran dry and he finally stopped, he lifted his chin at me.

"Go pour me a glass of water."

The words had barely left his mouth when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I opened it. Laurel had sent me a link.

Delgado Group Official Statement: Engagement Announcement Regarding Mr. Godfrey Delgado and Miss Lorraine Winfield

I looked up at the man still lounging on the couch, waiting for me to fetch his water, and quietly let out a breath.

"Victor."

"Hm?"

"I think you've got it wrong. The man I'm marrying isn't you."