"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."
