The moment the car rolled into the compound, I felt a heaviness in my chest that I couldn't explain. I stepped out quietly, my feet aching, my mind still running through everything that had happened earlier at Mr. Thompson's office. I only wanted to get inside, wash my face, lie down, and think. But the moment I opened the door and stepped into the sitting room,
I saw her—Miss Sylvia—sitting on the couch, legs crossed, back straight, staring into her phone with an expression that could burn holes into glass.
Before I could even adjust myself, she lifted her eyes. Her gaze travelled from the top of my head down to my shoes, slowly… deliberately… like she was inspecting an item on display.
I greeted her softly. "Good afternoon, Miss Sylvia."
I turned to leave, planning to slip away before she decided to speak. But her voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.
"Hey! Come back here!"
I stopped immediately and slowly turned. She was still staring at me, her eyes narrowed.
"What's this?" She asked, waving her hand up and down at me. "Are you deaf? Where are you coming from? And what is this look you're wearing?"
I swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Miss Sylvia. I'm coming back from Mr. Thompson's office for t—"
She didn't wait for me to finish.
"Mr. Thompson what?" She snapped, sitting up straight. "What did you just say? Why are you suddenly dumb?"
I tried again, my voice shaky. "I… I said I went to Mr. Thompson's office with them for the modelling. They—"
The rest of the sentence vanished from my mouth because her palm landed across my face with a loud, stinging
WOOZ.
For a moment I went blank. My vision went blurry like I had suddenly gone blind. My ears rang. My hand flew to my cheek. I stood there frozen, unable to believe what had just happened.
She slapped me.
She actually slapped me.
For what? What exactly had I done?
She stood over me, breathing hard. "I even asked you to repeat what you said, and you dared to repeat it. You're not afraid,? You went for which modelling?"
She let out a laugh—sharp, cruel, almost demonic.
"And you even have the mouth to say modelling," she continued mockingly. "Are you really serious?"
I kept holding my cheek, still trying to understand.
She scanned me again. "You even made your hair. The makeup… hmm." She leaned closer. "Who are you trying to seduce with this your slave brain? Dave?"
She laughed louder. "You must be something else."
I was still standing there, shaken, confused, and scared.
She continued now louder "I didn't understand why everyone had left earlier without saying anything"
She was still looking at me in he usual demonic way
I didn't understand why she was so angry. And I certainly didn't understand how I was supposed to defend myself when I knew anything I said would only provoke her more.
"You're still standing there?" she snapped.
I bowed slightly, ready to leave.
"Stop there," she barked. "Go straight to the kitchen with that your stinking makeup and prepare something for me to eat."
I didn't look at her. I couldn't. I simply turned and walked toward the kitchen, my hand still pressed against my cheek. The pain was sharp, hot, humiliating.
What nonsense is even going on here?
Is everyone in this house okay?
Did they all suddenly forget that I'm a human to them?
Why is everyone acting mad?
Her voice was still echoing from the sitting room even as I reached the kitchen. I tried to focus on cooking, but my hands trembled with each movement. This was the first time she had ever hit me. She had insulted me many times, shouted, commanded, humiliated me—but never raised her hand. And the shock kept replaying in my mind.
I was deep in my thoughts when I heard footsteps and a familiar voice from the sitting room.
Chant..Chantel …the voice call on me
Dave.
I wiped my hands quickly and stepped out to see him standing there with his usual gentle smile. Sylvia was still on the couch, eyes glued to her phone, pretending not to care.
But I could feel my face burning. I must have looked a mess. I hadn't checked a mirror, but I knew the mark was showing.
I approached him slowly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Dave."
He didn't respond immediately. He just stared—first at my face, then into my eyes. His expression changed. He stepped closer, gently lifting my chin to examine the cheek.
He frowned. "Hold on. What happened to you? Why is there a handprint on your face?"
I didn't speak. I looked at Sylvia. She didn't move, didn't look up… as if nothing concerned her.
"I… it's nothing," I stammered. "I hit my face on some—"
"Oh, please," Dave interrupted, frustrated. "Stop with that excuse."
He turned sharply to Sylvia, then back to me.
"Did she do this to you?" he asked, his voice growing deeper, angrier.
I wanted to walk away. I didn't want trouble. "Sorry, Mr. Dave, I need to continue what I was doing—"
Before I finished, Sylvia burst out:
"You see how stupid you are?" she roared. "You want to continue what you were doing, meaning you're admitting I did that to you without saying what happened, right? You didn't tell him how you insulted me by trying to walk away when I was questioning you!"
Her words hit me like cold water.
Walk away?
Me? Walk away?
I thought on my mind..
I tried to remember. I didn't think I did. I was confused, lost, quiet—but walk away? I didn't know anymore. My mind was spinning.
Sylvia continued weaving lies confidently, her voice loud and dramatic. I just stood there, helpless.
Dave watched both of us silently, his jaw clenched.
"You know what, Sylvia?" he finally said. "I don't believe you. And even if she tried to walk away, does that give you the right to strike her across the face?"
"Oh please!" she snapped. "I didn't do anything! You forget she has makeup on. I only held her ear and tapped her cheek gently. It's the makeup showing the mark, not her skin."
Another lie.
A bold, shameless lie.
I gasped internally. What kind of demon is this woman?
But I remained quiet.
"Mr. Dave…" I finally murmured. "I need to continue what I was doing."
He sighed. "Hold on."
Then he reached into his bag and pulled out a neatly wrapped file.
"I came back to give you this. They need you to start memorizing it for tomorrow. You'll be taught properly in the morning."
I collected the file carefully. Sylvia stared with burning anger, her lips tightening as if she wanted to spit fire.
I turned and left.
But Dave wasn't finished.
"You know, Sylvia," he said as soon as I walked away, "I know you more than you know yourself. And I know exactly what you are capable of."
Sylvia's head snapped up.
He continued, "Sometimes I wonder if you will ever change. Not just as a lady, but as a wife—a soon-to-be wife."
She glared at him, her face tightening with irritation.
"I won't say much because Thompson is my cousin, and I respect him. But let me warn you: if you don't change, you will regret your actions one day."
He looked her in the eyes. "Every single action. And you know the sides I'm talking about."
With that, he walked away to his room, leaving her frozen on the couch.
Sylvia stared after him with anger boiling in her eyes. She hissed loudly and stormed off moments later.
I held the file close to my chest as I returned to the kitchen, my cheek still burning, my spirit trembling, wondering how much longer I could endure this house… and this life.