"She brought it on herself." Rupert cut her off.
He walked toward me, the toe of his leather shoe nearly touching my knee.
"'Mrs. Sanchez.'" He spat the title like poison. "You were trash before I met you. Drop the act."
The air turned to stone.
The madam's expression shifted instantly—servile, understanding. She'd gotten the message.
"Of course, Mr. Sanchez. How silly of me. Mrs. Sanchez has quite the figure. Top-tier, really."
"Assign her to whoever likes it rough," Rupert said.
He turned toward the window, his back to me.
"Let her get a real taste of what goes on in here."
My parents rushed over the moment they heard.
My mother threw herself at Rupert's feet, clinging to his legs.
"Rupert! You can't do this! If Aileen Henson works as a hostess, our family's reputation will be destroyed! What will people in business circles say?"
"Mom..."
Seeing her on her knees before him, I finally forced out a single word.
She turned to look at me, her eyes hollow with despair.
"Aileen, beg him! Get on your knees and kowtow! Tell him you were wrong!"
Rupert laughed.
"Would an apology change anything?"
Then he pried her fingers off his leg, one by one.
"Every shred of dignity your family has—I gave it to you."