It had been three long, painful months since Lucille started living in Edward's house as a servant. Every day felt like a battle. The work was exhausting, and whenever she couldn't finish on time, the punishments followed without mercy. Sometimes, she didn't even know how she was still coping.
Her body had slowly adjusted to the suffering, but it had also paid the price. She was no longer the girl who walked into this house months ago. Her clothes hung off her body, far too loose for her now, thin frame. Her bones stuck out sharply under her skin, her cheeks were hollow, and her eyes had sunk deep into her face. She looked like a shadow of her old self.
Her hands, knees, and elbows were covered in wounds. Some fresh, some trying to heal. The constant pain in her stomach had become a cruel companion. She knew it was from hunger. Most days, the kitchen forgot about her completely. Sometimes, she went up to three days without proper food, surviving only on crumbs, if any.
Ophelia was the only reason she hadn't completely wasted away. She would sneak food to Lucille whenever she could. And during her monthly two days leave, she always brought back cooked meals and fresh fruit from her mother, who believed she was helping a stranger, not someone from their own pack.
Lucille never once called her family, even though she had a phone. She was terrified her voice would expose her, that she'd cry and spill everything. She didn't want them to worry about her. They deserved peace, not her pain. She had even begged Ophelia to keep everything secret from them.
But that wasn't the only thing she kept hidden. No one in Edward's house knew that Ophelia was from her pack. It was a secret Lucille guarded with all her strength, because if Edward ever found out, she feared what he'd do.
If anyone ever found out, Ophelia could lose her job, or worse, be placed under strict watch. Lucille couldn't let that happen.
And that woman, who took joy in harrassing her, Georgina, the head of all the servants, hadn't bothered her again since their last encounter. It was as if Lucille no longer existed to her.
Edward, too, had disappeared. Ever since the day he handed her the duty roster, she hadn't seen his face, not even a glimpse of his shadow. It almost felt like he had moved out of the house completely. The only people she regularly saw were the guards assigned to watch her while she performed her tasks, and report her every move.
Lucille stepped out of the bathroom, water still dripping from the ends of her hair. She paused in front of the cracked mirror in her room and stared at her reflection.
She barely recognized herself.
So this is what Edward wanted? This frail, broken version of her? Her lips curved into a cold, bitter smile.
She reached up and touched her damp hair, then slowly trailed her fingers down to her face. Her collarbone stuck out sharply beneath her skin. She let out a slow, deep breath.
But this time, her smile shifted, no bitterness, no tears. Only determination.
"I won't give you the satisfaction, Edward," she whispered. Her voice was low but firm.
She would serve him. She would follow every task on that list. But she would never let him win. He wouldn't see her break.
She picked up the towel and gently dried her hair. Then she took the old comb from the table and began brushing her long hair until it lay smooth and neat.
From her small bag, she pulled out a flowery hairband and a simple pair of earrings. Carefully, she applied the hair cream her mother used to make at home, rubbing it into her scalp with practiced fingers. Then she tied her hair into a ponytail, neat and tight.
She looked into the mirror one more time, her eyes calm but strong. She nodded, satisfied with her new look.
She slipped on the earrings, and somehow, her thin face didn't look as hollow anymore. Then she rubbed a small amount of her cheap body lotion, one she had been using sparingly since her arrival, into her skin. From her bag, she pulled out a flowery dress that almost matched her hairband.
The dress slid easily over her frame, a little too loose now because of all the weight she had lost. But as she stood in front of the mirror again, she realized it didn't look so bad. Plenty of women wore flowy dresses and looked stunning in them.
She dusted a bit of powder on her face and smiled when she saw her reflection. For once, she didn't look sick. She didn't look like someone falling apart.
She gave the mirror a playful twirl and nodded. No matter what Edward throws at me, she thought, I'll turn it into something beautiful.
She glanced down at her hands, at the healing sores across her palms. "You'll heal," she whispered.
She tidied up her small room, slipped into her worn slippers, and stepped out. Ophelia had secretly taken over some of her duties for the day, so she was free until evening. She didn't feel like staying locked away in that lonely room, so she decided to take a walk around the house.
It was a massive place, too big, too quiet. How could Edward live here all alone? Or maybe he didn't. Maybe there were family members or friends hidden away in some part of the house she never saw.
If life had turned out differently, this could have been her home. She might have been the mistress of the house. But then again, would she have turned into someone like Edward? Living off inherited wealth, mistreating people, and calling it power?
She shook the thought away. No, she told herself. I'd never be like him.
She soon found herself standing at the gate. One of the strict rules of her servitude was clear. She wasn't allowed to leave the house for five years. Not even step outside the gate. As she stood there, staring at it, the truth hit her harder than ever. She wasn't just serving a sentence, she was a prisoner.
Her eyes drifted to a small building nearby, tucked beside the gate. It was likely the security room, yet she had never seen anyone in or around it. Not even the day she arrived, no one came from that room, to open the gate for her.
Out of curiosity, she began walking toward the small structure, wanting to confirm if anyone was inside.
But then, a sudden honk stopped her in her tracks.
She turned and looked toward the gate. A luxurious car had pulled up, its engine purring as it waited. She frowned. This wasn't the expensive car Edward used to drive back in school. It was something far more expensive, more polished. Maybe it was a visitor, or a family member she hadn't yet seen.
Then, hastily, a guard rushed out of the small house and rolled the gate open with fastly. She stared in surprise. So someone does stay there.
As the car drove in slowly, she watched it closely, curious on who the owner was.
And then she saw him.
Edward.
He was behind the wheel. The moment their eyes met, he froze.