Still, I took the job.
Not for prestige.
Not because I enjoyed being a target.
I came because I needed access.
Because behind all this marble and money, something rotten was hiding — and Victoria wasn’t just cruel.
She was scared.
At breakfast, she prowled the dining room like a judge hunting for a victim.
“Tines on the left,” she said loudly. “Is that so hard?”
I corrected it without blinking.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She leaned in, perfume sharp and heavy.
“You think you’re clever,” she whispered. “You’ll break. They all do.”
I met her eyes for one steady second — then lowered mine, controlled.
That irritated her more than any mistake ever could.
Because control meant I wasn’t hers.
Weeks passed.
I survived.
Her coffee arrived at the exact temperature she liked. Dresses steamed before she demanded it. Jewelry laid out in her precise order. Every small perfection stripped her of excuses — and I could feel her hunting for new ones.
Richard noticed.
“She’s been here over a month,” he murmured one night.
“That’s… a record.”
Victoria laughed it off. But her lips tightened.
She hated it.
I learned her patterns.