By evening, I returned home. Thorne was in the living room with Lilith, his arm draped possessively around her. “She’s being followed by some obsessive patient’s family,” he said casually. “She’ll stay in our master bedroom. You can take one of the guest rooms. Thanks to your brother’s mess. Don’t worry, once it’s safe, she’ll move to my new penthouse.”
“Do what you want,” I replied. The divorce was done. This house wasn’t mine anymore. I had no fight left.
He looked startled at my calmness, as if expecting tears or screams. His frown deepened, but before he could speak, Lilith spoke.
“Aria, I just got off a night shift and haven’t eaten. Can you cook for me?” Her smile was sweet, but her eyes were sharp, daring. “Thorne says your cooking is the best, but I’ve never tasted it.”
“Ask the maid,” I said, turning to leave.
Her little protest followed me, and Thorne’s voice cut through, low and commanding. “Aria.” That was all. No explanation needed. I already knew. When Lilith wanted something, I was expected to serve.
I didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. I forced a smile that felt sharp and painful, like blades pressing against my gums, and dragged my exhausted body toward the kitchen.
The pot was already bubbling when I scooped the soup out and placed it on the dining table. My arm trembled from the weight, my wrist aching as I set the bowl down.
She barely glanced at it before curling her lip in disgust. “This is it?” she sneered. “This is what you call food? It looks revolting. Do you even know how to cook?”
Something inside me cracked. I ground my teeth and muttered, “Then don’t eat it.”
Her eyes flashed with something dark and vicious. Before I could react, she seized my wrist and slammed my hand straight into the boiling soup.
Agony exploded up my arm, white‑hot and unbearable, like fire tearing through my veins. I screamed and struggled, but she shoved harder, forcing my hand down as the bowl rattled wildly. It tipped, smashed against the floor, and shattered. Scalding liquid splashed everywhere.
When I finally tore free, I clutched my wrist, gasping. The skin was already swelling, blistering, red and raw. My hand didn’t even feel like part of my body anymore.