Matthew rose slowly, staring at the stain with quiet fury.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” he asked calmly. “This jacket costs more than you make in a year.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “It was an accident—you hit my arm—”
“Are you blaming me?” he sneered. Phones were already out. I felt like prey in an arena.
Matthew pulled a cordless hair clipper from his pocket and dropped it onto the table.
“Either I have you fired and blacklisted,” he said softly, “or you take your punishment. Here. Now.”
If I lost this job, I lost Evan. My legs shook as the clippers buzzed to life. Guests gathered, filming.
“Kneel,” Matthew ordered.
The manager watched from a distance, silent. I dropped to my knees.
“This is how you teach servants,” Matthew announced to his audience.
Cold metal touched my forehead. Hair fell onto my lap. Laughter grew. Someone tossed bills at me. I shut my eyes and repeated one thought: Do it for Evan.
As Matthew shaved the back of my head, he pulled up his sleeve.
That’s when I saw it.
A burn scar on his inner forearm—three interlocking circles.
My heart stopped.
