Emily's POV
I followed Victor into his study, my legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. The door closed behind us with a soft click that sounded as final as a judge's gavel.
Jenkins followed us in, positioning himself near the doorway with his usual professional composure. But I saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes darted between Victor and me with barely concealed concern.
Victor wheeled himself behind his desk, putting that barrier of polished mahogany between us. When he finally looked up, his face was a mask of cold fury that made my blood run cold.
"Do you have any idea," he began, his voice deceptively quiet, "what you've done tonight?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, silencing me.
"Those people…those board members…they finally believed in me again. After the gala, after everything we did to prove I was stable, capable of leading, they were convinced. Tonight was supposed to seal that impression. To show them this wasn't just a performance, but reality." His voice rose incrementally with each word. "And you destroyed it. You gave them every reason to question my judgment all over again."
"Victor, I don't understand what happened..."
"Of course you don't understand!" He slammed his palm against the desk, and I flinched. "Because you're incompetent, Emily. Utterly, completely incompetent. I gave you one job, one simple task, host a dinner party. Something that women in your position do regularly without disaster. And you couldn't even manage that."
The words hit like physical blows. "I tasted that lamb. It was perfect when I approved it…"
"Then clearly you didn't taste it properly!" His eyes blazed with an anger. "Or maybe you did, and you just didn't care. Maybe you wanted this to fail. Is that it, Emily? Are you trying to sabotage me? To punish me for something?"
"What? No! Victor, that's insane…"
"Is it?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping to something dangerous and cold. "Because from where I'm sitting, it seems like every time you do something right, you immediately take ten steps backward to undo it. The gala was a triumph, so naturally the next event had to be a catastrophe to balance it out."
Tears was streaming down my face now. "That's not fair. You know I worked so hard on this dinner…"
"Hard work means nothing without competence!" He shouted, his control finally snapping. "Do you understand what you've cost me tonight? The goodwill I've spent months building, the trust I've been trying to earn back, you destroyed it all with one ruined course! Those people left my home wondering what the hell I was thinking, bringing someone so clearly out of her depth into my life."
Each word was a knife, carefully placed to inflict pain. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together, but I was shattering. Breaking apart right there in his study while he watched with those cold, merciless eyes.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened, but I swear I did everything right…"
"Your apologies mean nothing." Victor's voice had gone emotionless, which was somehow worse than the anger. "I don't want to hear your excuses or your tears. I want results, Emily. Competence. Basic functionality. But clearly, that's too much to ask."
"Mr. Hawthorne." Jenkins finally stepped forward, his voice gentle but firm. "If I may…"
"Not now, Jenkins."
"Sir, I really think you should know…"
"I said not now!" Victor's glare swung to Jenkins, but he didn't back down.
"With respect, sir, Mrs. Hawthorne did everything correctly." Jenkins moved closer to the desk, his hands clasped in front of him. "I was with her throughout the entire planning process. She tasted every dish multiple times. She oversaw every detail personally. The lamb was perfectly seasoned when it left the kitchen…I can attest to that myself."
"Jenkins…" I started, but he shook his head slightly.
"Mrs. Hawthorne has been working tirelessly all week," Jenkins continued, his voice steady and sure. "She barely slept. She checked and rechecked every detail. She was trying her absolute best to make you proud, sir. To make this evening perfect for you and your guests."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Victor stared at Jenkins with an expression I couldn't read, something dark and complicated flickering behind his eyes. Then his gaze swung back to me, and I saw no softening there. No reconsideration.
"Get out."
The words were quiet, but they landed like a death sentence.
"Victor…"
"Go to your room, Emily. And stay there until I can trust you again." His voice was cold. "I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear from you. You are to take your meals in your room, and under no circumstances are you to present yourself at my side for any reason. Is that clear?"
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The room was spinning, and all I could see was Victor's face, cold and closed off, looking at me like I was nothing. Like I was less than nothing.
"Is. That. Clear?" he repeated, enunciating each word.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Good. Now get out of my sight."
I fled.
---
Three days.
Three days of exile in my own home…no, not my home. Victor's home. I was just an unwelcome guest who'd overstayed her welcome.
I took my meals in my room, delivered by Jenkins who wouldn't meet my eyes. I stayed away from common areas, slipping out only when I knew Victor would be in his study or otherwise occupied. I was a ghost haunting the edges of the mansion, invisible and unwanted.
The worst part was Lily.
"Mommy, why can't we have breakfast with Mr. Hawthorne anymore?" she asked on the second day, her small face scrunched with confusion. "Did we do something wrong?"
"No, baby." I pulled her close, pressing my face into her hair to hide my tears. "Mr. Hawthorne is just very busy right now. We need to give him space."
"But you look so sad." Her little hand patted my cheek. "And you've been crying. I can tell."
"I'm fine, sweetheart. Everything's fine."
But nothing was fine.
That night, Lily woke up screaming as she had slept in my room.
I turned to find her sitting up in bed, tears streaming down her face, her small body shaking with sobs.
"Lily, baby, what's wrong?" I gathered her into my arms, rocking her gently.
"I had a bad dream," she hiccupped against my shoulder. "We had to leave the castle. Mr. Hawthorne said we couldn't stay anymore, and we had to go back to our old house, but it wasn't there anymore. It was just... gone. And we didn't have anywhere to go."
My heart broke completely. "Oh, sweetheart. It was just a dream. We're not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
I held her tighter, unable to make that promise. Because the truth was, I didn't know. I didn't know if Victor would decide I was too much trouble and terminate our contract early, if he'd send us back to the poverty we'd barely escaped.
And even if he didn't, even if we stayed, I was realizing that there were worse things than poverty. Worse things than struggling to make ends meet or going hungry some nights.
At least when we'd been poor, we'd had our dignity. At least I'd been free.
Now I was trapped in this house with a man who looked at me with contempt. Trapped by a contract I'd signed for my family's sake.
I couldn't leave. My family depended on this arrangement. Depended on the money, the security, the medical care that was keeping my mother alive and comfortable in her recovery.
But staying was destroying me, piece by piece, day by day.
---
On the third day, I forced myself to check on my mother.
I found her in the sunroom, the space Victor had converted into a comfortable sitting area for her recovery. She was propped up in her favorite armchair, a blanket across her lap, looking out at the gardens. Nurse Mary sat nearby quietly.
"Emily, darling!" Mom's face lit up when she saw me, but the brightness dimmed almost immediately. "Come here, sweetheart. Sit with me."
I settled into the chair beside her, trying to arrange my face into something that didn't scream heartbreak.
"Mary, would you mind giving us a moment?" I asked gently.
The nurse nodded, gathering her things. "Of course, Mrs. Stevenson. I'll be just outside if you need anything."
Once we were alone, Mom reached for my hand. Her grip strong, the treatment was working, her health improving steadily. But her eyes were sharp, seeing far too much.
"Tell me what's wrong," she said softly.
"Nothing's wrong. I'm just…"
"Emily Stevenson Greene." Her use of my full name stopped me cold. "I'm your mother. I know when something's breaking your heart. And right now, yours looks shattered."
The tears came then, silent and devastating. I pressed my free hand to my mouth, trying to contain the sobs, but they shook my shoulders anyway.
"Oh, baby." Mom pulled me closer, letting me rest my head on her shoulder like I was five years old again. "What happened?"
The whole story poured out. The dinner party, the ruined lamb, Victor's fury, the three days of exile. Everything.
"That man," Mom said when I finished, her voice tight with anger I rarely heard from her. "That man has no right to treat you this way. I don't care how much money he has or how powerful he is. You deserve better, Emily."
"I can't leave," I whispered. "Lily needs this stability. And you…the medical care, the treatment…"
"Stop." Mom's voice was firm. "Don't you dare use me as an excuse to stay in a situation that's destroying you. I'd rather go back to that tiny apartment, rather we struggle with the medical bills, than watch my daughter lose herself in this... this prison."
"It's not a prison…"
"Isn't it?" She pulled back to look at me, her eyes fierce despite the illness that had weakened her body. "You're trapped here, Emily. Trapped by fear. That's what a prison is, sweetheart. It doesn't need bars to hold you."
I stared at her, this woman who'd sacrificed everything for me, who'd worked herself sick to keep us fed when my dad was no more, who was now telling me to choose myself over security.
"I don't know what to do," I admitted, my voice small and lost.
"You do," Mom said gently. "You know exactly what you need to do. You're just afraid to do it."
Before I could ask what she meant, Nurse Mary knocked softly on the door. "Mrs. Stevenson? It's time for your medication."
Mom squeezed my hand one more time. "Think about what I said, Emily. And remember…you're worth so much more than you're settling for."
I left her room feeling more confused than ever. My mother's words echoed in my mind as I made my way back to my own room, where I'd been spending every moment that wasn't devoted to Lily or Mom.
The day dragged on with agonizing slowness. I read the same page of a book seven times without absorbing a word. I stared out the window at gardens I was too afraid to enter, terrified I might run into Victor.
Evening fell, bringing with it the dinner tray I'd come to expect. The staff member who delivered it this time…a young woman named Maria…set it down without meeting my eyes, just like all the others.
"Thank you, Maria," I said softly, trying to inject some normalcy into the interaction.
She nodded quickly and fled.
I picked at the food without tasting it, forcing myself to eat because Lily would notice if I didn't. Because my mother would worry. Because I couldn't afford to fall apart, not completely, not yet.
Night came. I put Lily to bed, reading her favorite story twice until her eyes grew heavy and her breathing evened out. I checked on my mother…asleep in her room, Nurse Mary keeping watch…and then retreated to my own space.
I changed into my nightgown, brushed my teeth, went through all the motions of preparing for bed. But sleep felt impossible. My mind kept replaying Victor's words, his cold fury, the way he'd looked at me like I was nothing.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing, wondering how much longer I could endure this. How many more days of exile, of shame, of feeling like I was suffocating in this house.
The clock on my nightstand read 11:47 PM when I finally lay down, pulling the covers up and closing my eyes against tears that wouldn't stop falling.
I must have dozed eventually, because I jerked awake at the sound of a soft knock at my door.
My heart hammered as I sat up, disoriented. The clock now read 12:03 AM. Who would be at my door at this hour?
Another knock, barely audible.
I crossed the room on shaking legs and opened the door.
Victor sat in his wheelchair in the darkened hallway, and for the first time since I'd met him, he looked... lost. Uncertain. The armor of control and confidence had cracked.
He didn't meet my eyes. His gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder, and his hands gripped the wheelchair arms. I could see him struggling, with breaths that seemed to take effort.
The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I waited, barely breathing, afraid that any movement might shatter whatever fragile moment this was.
"I spoke to the caterer." His voice was rough, like he hadn't used it in days. Each word seemed dragged from somewhere deep and painful. "There was sabotage. Someone in the kitchen staff…deliberately over-salted the lamb after your final inspection."
The words should have brought relief. Vindication. But all I felt was a hollow ache in my chest.
He still didn't look at me. Couldn't look at me.
"It wasn't your fault," he said, and the words came out strained, like they were being pulled from him against his will.
It wasn't exactly an apology. Not even close. But from Victor Hawthorne, it was as close as I was likely to get.
I opened my mouth to respond...to say what, I didn't know...but he held up one hand, stopping me.
"I've been..." He stopped. Started again. "I've been unfair. To you."
The admission seemed to cost him something. His shoulders tensed, with the effort of forcing out words that didn't come naturally.
"You don't deserve..." He trailed off, his gaze finally, briefly, flickering to mine before darting away again. In that split second of eye contact, I saw everything he couldn't say. The regret. The shame. The self-loathing. The fear.
He cleared his throat roughly. "Good night, Emily."
And then he was wheeling himself away.
I stood frozen in my doorway, watching him retreat. Part of me wanted to call after him, to tell him to come back, to finish what he'd started. But my voice wouldn't work. My body wouldn't move.