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."
