"That woman's been spoiled completely out of control. Not an ounce of manners."
"You know what she gave Young Mr. Vance for his birthday? Guess."
"A little cake she made herself. Tacky, cheap-looking, and an embarrassment to the entire Vance family name."
He paused. "Honestly, step it up. Who knows how long she'll hold his interest."
"She's being groomed as the future lady of the house, sure, but if she can't get with the program, that engagement is done sooner or later."
That night, I was held down in a bathtub filled with frosting for three full hours.
They watched me thrash and laughed, ignoring the contact allergy tearing my body apart.
My vision kept going black, my hands swelling, every breath harder than the last.
With the last scrap of strength in me, I keyed in the number I knew by heart.
I hadn't expected it—the first thing I heard was a woman's laugh, light and flirty.
"I baked these cookies myself—stick a candle in and that's your birthday party!"
Then his voice, lazy, half-smiling: "I'm busy right now."
"Anything else, call my assistant."
Before I could get a word out, the line went dead.
Panic flooded my chest. My fingers were shaking, already moving to redial.
The screen barely had time to light up before the night-shift instructor seized the back of my neck and wrenched me away from it.
Her face was cold. She glanced at my lock screen and sneered.
"Missing your man in the middle of the night?"
"Just as shameless as Ms. Henson said."
"You don't even know your place, do you? Chasing after him, clinging like a leech. He's unlucky he ever met you."
At the same time, Oliver posted a set of photos on his social media back home.
Burnt cookies on fine porcelain, so charred they could have been anything, warm candlelight pooling over two clasped hands.
The live photo carried the faint sound of a woman laughing, sweet and pleased.
"You promised! You said this was the most heartfelt gift..."
I shook my head hard, dragging myself back to the present.
When I looked up, my gaze ran straight into Oliver's.
He saw me looking and glanced away. His fingers curled once, unconsciously.
He didn't manage a single complete sentence.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, turned, and went back to my room.
I'd barely closed my eyes for a few minutes when someone started slamming on the bedroom door.
Davina ignored Oliver's low attempts to stop her, her voice sharp and accusing.