“Benedict, wait—”
“Maeve fell from the fucking fifth floor because of you. And you’re whining about a bump on your damn head? You’re going to the hospital. You’re going to apologize. And you’re gonna beg for her forgiveness.”
My legs barely worked because of pain but he didn’t care. He just shoved me into the passenger seat.
The whole ride, I stared out the window, silently screaming from the pain. It felt like my whole body was going to collapse from the fall.
We arrived at the hospital. He didn’t wait for me, he just stormed into the room like he owned it.
Maeve was propped up in the hospital bed, looking pale, fragile, bandaged wrists on display like a trophy. As soon as she saw me, her eyes widened with manufactured fear.
Bitch!
“Benny…” she whispered, shaking. “I—I don’t want her here. Please… I'm scared of her.”
Benedict went straight to her, sat on the edge of the bed, and took her hand like she was something sacred. “Shh. It’s okay. I’m here now. No one’s gonna hurt you.”
Then he turned to me. His eyes turned to ice.
“Well?” he said, voice hard. “What the hell are you standing there for? APOLOGIZE.”
I looked at Maeve. At her scared little expression. At the bandages…. At Benedict holding her like a wounded dove.
And I asked her quietly, “Did I really push you?”
Maeve’s eyelashes fluttered, and just like that, she started crying. “Miss Linwood,” she choked out between soft sobs, “if you don’t want to apologize, it’s okay. I never wanted to cause problems for you.” Her voice was fragile, trembling. “I know Benedict’s been staying with me lately,” she continued, wiping tears from her cheeks. “And it’s only natural if you feel upset. But… you and him, you’re just a business arrangement. There’s no love. If it weren’t for my background, he never would’ve had to marry someone else.”
The more she talked, the more pathetic she sounded. The more she cried, the darker Benedict’s face grew.
Then his voice snapped like a gunshot. “Alodia. I told you to apologize. Not to start drama!” His eyes cut through me. “Are you gonna do it or not?”
I looked at Maeve. Her perfect little act, all wide-eyed and broken like a porcelain doll.
I knew she was lying.
I knew she fell on her own…
And I also knew this: if I didn’t play along, if I caused even a small crack in the cooperation between the Linwoods and the Karsovs, I wouldn’t get my freedom. I wouldn’t get the hundred million that Mrs. Linwood promised me. I’d be stuck. In this marriage. In this life. Forever.
So I swallowed everything. “I’m sorry,” I said flatly, “It was my fault.” Then I turned to leave.
“Stop.” Benedict’s tone was ice. “You fucking pushed her, now you took responsibility. You’ll stay and look after her. Until she’s discharged.”
I didn’t argue. My fingers twitched slightly at my side. But I nodded.
“Okay.”
**
AFTER THAT, I STAYED in the hospital.
Every day, I took care of Maeve, helped her change clothes, brought her meals, fluffed her pillows like some helper robot. I brushed her hair and adjusted her blankets.
Benedict stayed too. Of course he did.
He didn’t check on the cartel shipments. Didn’t answer his phone when his men called. The entire Karsov operation could’ve burned to the ground and he wouldn’t have noticed because Maeve had a bruised rib and a sprained wrist.
He fed her porridge. Wiped her lips with a napkin. Sat beside her while she fell asleep.
He’d never done any of that for me.
Then one morning, Benedict’s phone rang. I heard only fragments—“European investors… issue with the Dubai end… thirty minutes max.” He looked at Maeve apologetically, kissed her forehead, and left.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the air shifted.
Maeve glanced at the clock, gave it ten full seconds… then turned to me with a slow, lazy smile.
“Peel the orange, slave. And don’t bruise it this time!"
I peeled the orange. Then she picked up the glass of orange juice and flung it straight to my face.It hit with a loud splash.
“Oops!” she said sweetly. “My hand slipped.”
I clenched my jaw.
“Go clean it up, Cinderella. Before he comes back and sees what a mess you are.”
Then, as if on cue, the door opened again.
Benedict stepped inside, expression unreadable. His eyes swept over Maeve. Then over me.
He saw the spilled juice. The soaked shirt. The broken glass.
“Maeve?” he asked, frowning. “What happened?”
Maeve’s eyes instantly shimmered with moisture. “I’m so sorry, Benny. My hand slipped. I didn’t mean to—” her voice cracked.
Benedict sighed. “Don’t apologize for her, Maeve. She’s your maid here. It’s her job to clean up after you.”
Silence rang louder than thunder. My heart should’ve broken then. But it didn’t. Because it was already ash.
