Freda's POV
The smell of the damp stone walls in the maid’s chambers was suffocating as Tina led me inside. My heart pounded, a mix of dread and determination coursing through me. I had barely crossed the threshold when a voice sliced through the stale air.
“So predictable,” Helen drawled, her figure emerging from the shadows like a predator who’d been lying in wait. Her icy gaze locked onto mine, and a cruel smile curled on her lips. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”
Tina froze beside me, her face pale as she dipped her head. I squared my shoulders, refusing to cower under Helen’s piercing stare.
“You have no right to keep me from this pack,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “This is my home, and I won’t leave.”
Helen let out a cold, mirthless laugh. “Home? You’re mistaken, Freda. This isn’t your home. You’re nothing but an unwanted ghost haunting what doesn’t belong to you.” She stepped closer, her presence suffocating. “But I’ll allow you to stay… under certain conditions.”
I clenched my fists at my sides, unwilling to let her see how her words cut. “What conditions?”
“You will serve Sybil as her personal maid,” Helen said, her tone laced with mockery. “She’s pregnant, you know. With Willard’s child.”
The air left my lungs as if I’d been punched. “What?”
Helen’s smirk deepened. “Yes, you heard me. And she’ll need extra care during her pregnancy. A maid… and a blood donor. Convenient, isn’t it, that you share her blood type?”
My mind reeled, disbelief crashing over me like a tidal wave. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am,” Helen said, her voice as sharp as a blade. “And let me make one thing clear. If you so much as breathe a word to Willard about your past with him, or about your pathetic little feelings, there will be consequences. Grave consequences.”
“You can’t stop me,” I said, though my voice trembled slightly.
Helen’s expression hardened, her eyes gleaming with menace. “Try me, Freda. I’ll make you regret every moment you remain in this pack.”
Her words settled over me like a dark cloud, but I swallowed my fear. No matter what, I wouldn’t let her win. Not completely.
.....
Being Sybil’s maid was a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. Every day brought a new humiliation, a new reminder of how far I’d fallen. Sybil took every opportunity to flaunt her position, her soft hands gesturing to the tasks she deemed beneath her.
“Freda, the floors need scrubbing again,” she said one morning, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “And make sure it’s spotless this time. Willard likes everything perfect.”
I gritted my teeth as I knelt on the cold floor, scrubbing until my fingers bled. Sybil sat nearby, sipping tea and chatting with Helen as if I weren’t there.
“It’s amazing how some people think they can rise above their station,” Helen said, her tone casual but pointed. “Only to end up right where they belong.”
Sybil laughed, a delicate sound that grated against my ears. “It’s almost sad, really. But at least she’s useful for something.”
Their words burned, but I kept my head down, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Each insult, each cruel order, only strengthened my resolve. They wanted to break me, to make me disappear. But I wouldn’t let them. I'll find a way to end their cruelty.
Weeks passed in a haze of endless tasks and whispered taunts. My body grew weaker under the strain, the stress gnawing at my strength. The sight of Willard and Sybil together, their closeness flaunted at every turn, was a dagger to my heart. But I held onto the hope that I could find a way to reach him, to make him remember.
One evening, as I carried a tray of tea to Sybil’s room, the world tilted. My vision blurred, and a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. The tray slipped from my hands, the shattering of porcelain echoing in the hallway as I crumpled to the floor.
“What is this mess?” Sybil’s voice cut through the haze of pain, her tone annoyed rather than concerned. She stepped into the hallway, her expression sour as she looked down at me. “Can’t you do anything right?”
“I… I need help,” I managed to whisper, clutching my stomach. Warmth seeped between my fingers, and my heart froze as I realized it was blood.
Sybil’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Pathetic. Clean this up before someone sees.”
She turned on her heel, leaving me there, broken and bleeding. Desperation clawed at me as I dragged myself down the hall, each movement a battle. I needed to find someone, anyone who could help.
And then I saw him.
Willard stood at the end of the corridor, his broad shoulders rigid as he turned toward me. Relief flooded my chest, hope sparking for the first time in weeks.
“Willard,” I gasped, reaching out to him. “Please, help me.”
His gaze met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw something in his eyes—concern, recognition, anything. But then his expression hardened, and he walked past me without a word.
The hope that had burned so brightly flickered and died, leaving only darkness in its wake.
As I lay there, my strength fading, one thought consumed me: if I survived this, I would make them all pay.
