“Want your mother to rest in peace? Fine. From today on, you’ll stay by my side and serve me. Until every last bit of what you owe me is paid back.”
His words hung in the air, and then Andrew glanced towards the model approaching. “Go, dry her off. Quickly now.”
2
For the sake of my mother’s ashes, I had no choice. I picked up the towel, my fingers trembling uncontrollably. Four years ago, by this very pool, Andrew had wrapp- ed this same towel around my body, kissing me amidst cheers and playful taunts. His ears had been flushed crimson, yet he had pulled me into a fierce embrace. Now, I was forced to act like a servant for Andrew’s latest conquest.
The model suddenly giggled, complaining of tickles, deliberately wriggling her body. It was then I noticed her phone screen, placed beside the pool, was lit up – she was live–streaming! The comments scrolled wildly.
“Isn’t that Evie Hayes? Working as a maid?”
“Heard she’d stooped to anything to get ahead.”
“Serves her night! Always hated her.”
I snapped my head up, meeting the model’s challenging gaze. Andrew leaned back in his lounge chair, enjoying the spectacle. He was doing this on purpose.
I turned to leave, but Andrew’s hand shot out, seizing my wrist. “Where are you going? Your father made my mother suffer a hundredfold. I make you repay every
single bit of it.”
the model’s live video went viral that very night. #EvieHayesServes Others and #EvieHayes Exposed trended, racking up hundreds of millions of views. My phone
vibrated endlessly, bombarded with abusive texts and death threats from unknown numbers. I switched off my phone. A single tear splattered onto the back of my
hand Andrew watched me cry, finally satisfied.
After he left, the butler, Mr. Finch, approached, offering me a tissue. “Madam, please don’t blame the master. He’s just…
I waved him off, turning into my bedroom.
The next morning, my door was violently kicked open. Andrew stood in the doorway, a petite figure clinging to his arm. It was her–Scarlett Davies, the starlet who had “accidentally” cut my safety wire on set. She stood behind Andrew, looking innocent and fragile, just as she had cried to the media, claiming it was “not on pur- pose.” My vision blurred. My mother’s last moments, pulling out her oxygen tube, flashed before my eyes, altemating with the image of the tiny, formed life on the
ultrasound screen. He knew full well those hands were stained with our child’s blood, yet he indulged her, letting her trample over my heart again and again.
Yes, this child was merely an accident to him. He wouldn’t care.
Scarlett suddenly dropped to her knees, her tears flowing on cue. “Evie, I’m so, so sorry. That day, I really didn’t mean to.” Then, she looked up, her voice barely a whi- sper, for my ears only. “But a bastard should never have been bom anyway!”
I lunged to slap her, but Andrew’s hand clamped down on my wrist, hard. He looked down at me, and from his pocket, he produced a familiar silver locket. It was the family heirloom my mother had worn her entire life.
“Remember this? I found it in the um.”
I struggled to snatch it, but he casually tossed it to Scarlett. Scarlett caught it with a gasp of delight, then, right in front of me, she put it around her neck. This locket was a cherished Hayes family heirloom. When my mother had given it to Andrew years ago, she had smiled and said, “From now on, we’re family.”
Back then, Andrew would respectfully call my mother “Aunt Evelyn.” He would anxiously offer her warm water when she coughed. He would arrange the best hospit- al for her the moment she fell ill. But later, he had savagely thrown the locket onto my mother’s hospital bed, declaring it a jinx.
My voice trembled. “Andrew, you know what that locket meant to my mother.”
He gripped my chin. “When your father forced my mother to jump to her death, did he consider what that meant?”
Scarlett flinched at the sudden intensity. The locket slipped from her grasp, falling onto the marble floor. Scarlett frantically bent down, but as she picked it up, she fumbled and dropped it again. Time seemed to stop. I knelt on the floor, staring at the shattered locket, R was like that misunderstanding from years ago, tearing two
families apart.
Tonight Scarlett will stay in the master bedroom. You, clean this up.” Andrew put an arm around Scarlett and walked upstairs.
Mom, I lost your last keepsake too.
Outside the window, thunder cracked, and rain poured down. Just like that rainy night many years ago, when Andrew, drenched, stood outside my house just to coax me to sleep. And now, he was holding another woman, sleeping in the marital bed my mother and I had picked out together.
This time, I didn’t cry. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to a number that had been dormant in my contacts for years:
“Attomey Miller, regarding my father’s case from back then, I need all the information.”
