The bottle shattered against the edge of the table with a sharp crack that rang through the room.
Sixteen-year-old Victoria flinched before she even realized she had moved.
Her father stood there, his chest rising and falling heavily, the broken neck of the bottle clenched in his hand. His eyes were red, unfocused, the kind of look that always came before things got worse.
"After everything I've done for you!" he shouted, his voice thick with alcohol and anger. "This is what I get?"
Victoria's back hit the wall as he grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. Pain shot through her shoulder, but she didn't scream, not yet. She had learned when to hold it in.
"Useless!" he spat.
The first strike landed across her back, hard enough to knock the breath out of her. She gasped, her fingers clawing at the air as she tried to steady herself.
"Stop! Stop!" Mercy's voice broke through, high and panicked.
Her younger sister rushed forward, grabbing at his arm, trying to pull him away. "Please! Please, leave her!"
He shoved Mercy aside without even looking. She hit the floor with a cry, scrambling back immediately, still trying to reach for Victoria.
"Papa, please!" she begged, her voice shaking. "Please, you're hurting her!"
Another strike.
This time, Victoria couldn't hold it in. A sharp cry tore from her throat as her knees buckled, her hands reaching out to catch herself on the table.
Behind them, their mother sat in her wheelchair, her hands trembling uncontrollably.
"Mm—mm—mm—" The sounds came out broken, desperate. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to reach forward, her body refusing to move the way she needed it to.
Her eyes were wide with fear, pleading without words.
Victoria saw her.
And that hurt more than the blows.
"Look at you!" their father barked. "Look at what you've become!"
The broken bottle lifted again.
"For all the years I wasted on you!"
Mercy crawled forward this time, grabbing onto his leg, her voice cracking. "Please! Please stop! PAPA—"
He kicked her off.
Victoria's vision blurred as the next strike came down, her body jerking with the impact.
"I gave you everything!" he roared. "And this is how you repay me?"
The words echoed, louder than everything else.
Over and over.
After everything I did for you.
After everything I did for you.
The bottle raised again—
• • •
Victoria jerked awake.
A sharp gasp tore from her chest as she sat upright, her whole body tense, her breath coming in uneven bursts.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was.
Her eyes darted around wildly, searching and frightened —
Silence surrounded her.
She then felt the soft sheets beneath her.
Her gaze raised to the glass walls; her hands trembled as she brought one up to her forehead, wiping away the thin layer of sweat that had formed there.
Her heart was still racing.
She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady her breathing.
Then slowly, her gaze dropped to her hands.
They were shaking.
Her fingers curled slightly, like she was trying to hold onto something.
"He…" Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
She swallowed again, forcing the words out. "He can't hurt us anymore."
The words felt strange. An unfamiliar situation she never thought she'd say.
But she repeated them anyway, in a softer tone. "He can't hurt us anymore…"
Her hands trembled harder for a second before she pressed them together, trying to still them.
A knock came at the door.
Victoria flinched.
Before she could respond, the door opened.
Three young women stepped in, dressed neatly in black blouse uniform, their movements were coordinated as they entered. The moment they saw her, they bowed slightly.
"Good morning, ma'am."
Victoria blinked, still trying to pull herself fully out of the nightmare.
"…W- Who are you?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
One of them stepped forward, her expression polite but distant. "We are your personal attendants, ma'am. Mr. Gray selected us to serve you."
Victoria stared at them for a second.
Personal attendants?
For her.
"Oh… okay." The words felt strange in her mouth.
She swung her legs off the bed slowly, her body still a little weak, her head light in a way she didn't like.
As she stood, a wave of nausea hit her suddenly.
Her stomach twisted hard.
Images flashed through her mind before she could stop them.
Her father's body.
The blood.
The grave.
Her throat tightened.
She barely made it a few steps before she turned and rushed toward the bathroom, her pace uneven as she crossed the large space.
She reached the sink just in time.
Her body folded forward as she threw up, her hands gripping the edge tightly.
Her breathing came in short bursts between each wave, her throat burning as her eyes watered.
When it finally stopped, she stayed there for a moment, her head hanging low as she tried to catch her breath.
Slowly, she straightened.
Her reflection stared back at her.
She looked pale and tired.
Her fingers lifted slightly, hovering near her face like she didn't quite recognize what she was seeing.
Then the voice came back.
'After everything I did for you.'
Her expression tightened.
'After everything I did for you.'
The echoes layered over each other, mixing with the sound of crying, screaming, and everything she had tried to bury.
She shook her head quickly, squeezing her eyes shut.
"No…" She turned away from the mirror, stepping towards the door.
Just as she did, soft voices reached her ears.
"…Is that really her?"
Victoria paused..
"…That's who Master married?"
Another voice, quieter than the last. "He couldn't find someone prettier?"
A small laugh followed. "I heard she's from a poor background. Why would he pick someone like that? Poor people are hard to control once they smell luxury."
Victoria's chest tightened.
"This kind of woman will ruin the family name before the news of their false marriage."
"Shh," another voice cut in quickly. "Don't say that out loud. You know the rules."
"I'm just saying," the second voice continued, "You can't trust people like that. Give them money and they change overnight."
"Look at her hair," someone added. "I hope he doesn't plan to take her out like that."
"And we have to serve her," another muttered. "Unbelievable."
A quiet chuckle. "It won't be hard. She's not used to this life. Even the bare minimum will feel like luxury to her."
Something in Victoria's chest twisted painfully.
For a moment, she just stood there, her fingers slowly curling at her sides.
Then she inhaled.
One. Two. Three…
She stepped out.
The moment she appeared, the voices stopped.
All three straightened immediately, their expressions shifting into polite neutrality as they bowed again.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" one of them asked.
Victoria looked at her.
Keenly—and saw it.
That faint mockery behind the concern. The same one her colleagues use to give her… the same condescending glaze each bar customer threw at her timid figure.
Victoria gulped. "I'm fine," she said quietly.
The words came out steady, even if she wasn't.
"We'll prepare your bath," the same maid continued. "And your clothes for breakfast. Master will be waiting at the dining."
Victoria nodded once. "Okay."
She stood there for a moment longer after they moved, her gaze dropping briefly to her hands.
They were still shaking.
Not as badly as before but still enough.
Her body hadn't caught up yet. Though her mind hadn't either.
Everything felt like it was happening too fast, like she was being pulled forward without time to understand anything.
Still, she forced herself to move.
• • •
Later, dressed and composed as much as the maids gave their efforts in, Victoria made her way downstairs.
Each step felt deliberate and careful, like she was still adjusting to the ground beneath her.
The house looked different in daylight.
Even more expensive.
She took it in quietly as she descended, her gaze moving over the details she hadn't fully noticed before.
Then she reached the dining area.
The table stretched long across the room, polished and perfectly arranged. At the far end, Martin sat already, a newspaper in his hand, his breakfast set in front of him.
He didn't look up immediately.
Victoria hesitated for a second before stepping forward.
She chose a seat.
One very far and safe away from him.
She had just begun to pull the chair back when his voice cut through the silence.
"No good morning for your husband?"
Her shoulders flinched slightly.
Right. Oops…
She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly before looking up at him.
"Good morning… sorry."
He glanced at her briefly, then back at his paper.
"Good morning."
She moved to sit again, still keeping her distance.
"It is improper," he added calmly, "for a wife to sit that far from her husband."
She froze.
Then quickly shook her head. "I—I didn't mean—"
"Sit here."
He didn't raise his voice nor his gaze from the paper as he nudged at the seat at his left.
She swallowed and moved, her steps slower this time as she walked around the table and took the seat beside him — his left.
As she reached for the chair, Gray stepped in smoothly and pulled it out for her.
She murmured a soft "thank you" before sitting.
Her plate was already set.
Everything looked… perfect.
Too perfect for what she knew as a proper meal… all she could think about were the food magazine she used to see such plates captured in.
She picked up her fork carefully, her movements slower and cautious, hyper-aware of everything around her.
The silence stretched between them.
And for the first time since waking up—She felt it clearly.
This life she had stepped into… Was nothing like the one she left behind.