The guy in the crested jacket had scattered the hallway crowd with a single look, but his intervention didn't save my afternoon. The final bell rang, signaling a new kind of nightmare.
I clutched my AP History textbook to my chest and pushed through the heavy double doors into the crisp autumn air.
"Leaving so soon, Sylvia?"
Blake stepped into my path. He blocked the sidewalk, his broad shoulders tensed under his varsity jacket. Yara stood right behind him, a smug grin plastered across her face.
"Move, Blake," I said.
"Not yet," he replied, holding his hand out. "Yara told me you were acting up this morning."
"I was trying to go to class."
"You disrespected her," he corrected. He snatched the heavy book from my arms before I could react.
"Give that back. I have an essay due tomorrow."
Blake flipped the hardcover open, mocking a scholarly frown. "An essay? Sounds like a lot of work for a maid. Do you even know what these words mean?"
"It's school property," I warned, stepping forward. "They charge for damages."
Yara stepped in front of him, her designer shoes scuffing the concrete. "And you're our property. You embarrassed me today. You talked back."
"I defended myself against a spoiled bully."
"A bully?" Yara laughed loudly. "I'm your superior. You live in my shadow."
"I live in your basement. There's a difference."
"Tear it, Blake," Yara ordered.
"No!" I lunged for the book.
Blake shoved me back by the collar. My sneakers skidded on the pavement. "Stay back, trash."
He gripped a thick chunk of pages in his massive hands and yanked. The spine cracked loudly. Paper tore with a sickening rip.
He tossed the mangled halves onto the dirt. Pages scattered across the lawn like dead leaves.
"Oops," Blake sneered. "Looks like you dropped something."
I stared at the ruined book. My throat tightened. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just let out a dry, hollow chuckle.
Yara's smirk faltered. She exchanged a confused glance with Blake. "Are you crazy?"
"I'm just calculating how many extra shifts your parents will make me work to pay for that," I said, my voice deadpan. "Probably a month of weekends. Thanks, Yara."
"You'll pay for it with blood if you keep talking," Blake threatened, taking a step toward me.
Yara waved him off. "Leave her. Let the trash roll in the dirt. She's not worth breaking a sweat over."
They walked away, laughing loudly so the remaining students could hear. I dropped to my knees and gathered the shredded pages, my vision blurring.
I shoved the ruined book into my backpack and ran the two miles back to the Hale estate. My chest heaved. Hot tears spilled over my cheeks, fueled by sheer exhaustion and the injustice of it all.
I burst through the back door. Gale sat at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
"You're late," he muttered without looking up.
"Yara ruined my textbook." My voice cracked. I dumped the torn pages onto the marble counter. "She and Blake ambushed me after school. They tore it in half."
Gale finally looked up. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the mess of paper.
"I need a replacement," I pleaded, wiping a tear from my chin. "The school will charge me eighty dollars. I don't have eighty dollars, Gale. You take all my paychecks."
"Keep your voice down," he warned, taking a sip of his drink.
"No! It's not fair. She attacked me this morning, and now this. You have to tell her to stop. She can't just destroy my things."
Gale stood up. The wooden stool scraped harshly against the floor.
"I said, shut up."
"Why does she get away with everything?" I sobbed, the frustration boiling over. "I do all the work! I earn the money! She just takes and takes!"
"She is my daughter," Gale stated coldly.
"And what am I?" I fired back. "Just a punching bag?"
*Smack.*
The impact snapped my head to the side. Pain exploded across my left cheek. The force sent me stumbling backward until my hip crashed into the refrigerator.
Silence filled the kitchen. My ear rang with a high-pitched whine.
I touched my burning skin. I didn't cry harder. The tears stopped instantly, replaced by a cold, numbing shock.
"You ungrateful little brat," Gale hissed, stepping closer. "You live under my roof. You eat the food I provide. And you dare come in here screaming about my daughter?"
"She destroyed my book," I whispered, tasting copper on my lip.
"She taught you a lesson on respect." Gale leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Tomorrow morning, you will find Yara in the hallway."
"I won't speak to her."
"You will get on your knees, and you will apologize to her in front of everyone."
"I didn't do anything wrong."
"You exist," he spat. "And you act like you're her equal. You are a servant. Tomorrow, you kneel."
"I won't."
"If you don't, I'll throw you out on the street with nothing but the clothes on your back. Understood?"
I stared at the floor. My jaw clamped shut.
"I said, understood?" He raised his hand again, fingers spread wide.
"Yes," I forced the word out.
"Good. Now get out of my sight. Mrs. Hale has work for you."
I walked into the main hall, my cheek throbbing with every heartbeat.
Mrs. Hale stood by the grand staircase, a clipboard in her hand. She wore a tailored pantsuit, her expression as rigid as the marble pillars around us.
"Look at you, dawdling," she snapped the moment she saw me. "Did you think you could skip your afternoon duties just because you had a little spat at school?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good. The guest wing needs a deep clean. All four bedrooms. Dust the chandeliers, polish the baseboards, and scrub the grout in the master bath."
"All four?" I asked. "That will take hours."
"Then you better start now." Mrs. Hale tossed a heavy bucket of cleaning supplies at my feet. It clattered loudly, soapy water sloshing over the brim onto my scuffed shoes. "And don't think about cutting corners. If I find one speck of dust, you'll do it all over again."
I picked up the bucket by its metal handle. The wire dug into my calloused palms.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Move," she barked. "You're moving like a slug. Lazy girls don't get dinner."
I dragged myself up the sweeping staircase. My muscles ached from the morning's labor, and my stomach cramped with hunger.
For three hours, I scrubbed.
I knelt on the cold tile of the first guest bathroom, a toothbrush in my hand, attacking the grout. The harsh chemicals burned my nostrils and stung the fresh cuts on my knuckles.
"Missed a spot."
I jumped. Mrs. Hale stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
"Where?" I asked, keeping my tone flat.
She pointed a manicured finger at the corner behind the toilet. "There. You're slacking, Sylvia."
"I just started this section."
"Excuses. Do you think we keep you around out of the goodness of our hearts?"
"I do my chores," I replied.
"You do the bare minimum. You are here to work."
"I'm scrubbing as fast as I am able."
"Not fast enough." She kicked the side of my bucket. Sudsy water spilled across the floor I had just dried. "Clean that up."
"You just ruined my work."
"I gave you a chance to do it right this time," she countered. "Then move to the second bedroom. The linens need to be changed and ironed."
I gripped the wet sponge, squeezing it until my joints turned white. "Thank you for the extra water, ma'am."
Mrs. Hale blinked, clearly thrown off by the response. She sneered, recovering quickly. "Don't get smart with me, girl. Just do your job." She turned on her heel and walked away.
I wiped the soapy puddle, my reflection distorted in the wet tile. A bruised cheek. Hollow eyes. A torn collar.
I dragged myself to the next room. I stripped the massive king-sized bed, the heavy duvet threatening to pull me down with it. I hauled the sheets to the laundry chute, then fetched the iron.
The steam hissed. My arms felt like lead.
"Sylvia!" Mrs. Hale's voice echoed from the hallway. "The silver in the dining room needs polishing! Now!"
"Coming," I yelled back, my
