Rafe takes me at my word.
The next morning, I stare wordlessly around me at the flour coating the floor in a thick layer. My mop and brush have disappeared completely, leaving me to struggle on my hands and knees for hours as I scrub, trying to pick up the thick sludge until my back and knees are screaming for relief.
When Rafe comes down, he walks past me without a word.
The next day is eggs, much to everyone’s disgust. The whites stick to the floor, getting into the cracks.
Then it’s sugar.
Oats.
Flour again.
Something every single damn day, even though Ellen moves her whole kitchen around to try and stop him from raiding it.
It feels like that fucking hallway consumes my entire existence as I spend my days cleaning up Rafe’s temper tantrums.
And every day, I hate him a little bit more for it.
But I find myself falling into the routine. Hallway. Breakfast. Hallway again. Sometimes lunch, if it’s a good day. If it’s not, I work until dinner trying to clear the mess. No matter what, I make sure the hallway is cleared at the end of each day, not a speck of mess to be seen. And I never, ever say a word.
Ellen starts slipping me freshly baked bread with my broth at dinner, her mouth turned down in what I think might be a speck of pity.
I’m not sure what I’m proving. Maybe something to Rafe, that he can’t wear me down. Or maybe something to myself, that I refuse to admit as I scrape and scrub until my nails are little more than stubs.
I can’t do most of the chores on the damn list Silas came up with. There just aren’t enough hours in the day. So Ellen ropes in Clara.
I fucking hate Clara.
Clara, with her shiny, clean blonde hair and perfect blue eyes. She reminds me of Ella, right down to her catty but oh-I’m-just-so-sweet-and-innocent nature.
“Oh!” she exclaims when I first meet her.
I stumble into the kitchen, covered head to toe in white fucking flour, making more mess as I try and brush myself off. She smirks at me where she leans against the counter, effortlessly elegant even in her crisp white blouse and indecently short black skirt.
“So you’re the ugly stepsister? I thought that was just something they made up!”
Bitch.
Blandly, I look her up and down. “That’s a lovely belt. Where did you get it?”
She blinks at me, and I smile sweetly. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Is that supposed to be your skirt? They must not pay you enough to get the whole thing.”
Ellen coughs as the smug smile wipes away from Carla’s face. “Now, then. Carla, you need to do the bathrooms today.”
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to do the bathrooms anymore?” If it were possible, I’d be dead from the daggers flashing in Carla’s eyes. “Isn’t that what she’s here for?”
Ellen raises her eyebrows. “You’ll do the work you’re assigned. Get going.”
I never knew that hate at first sight was a thing until now. But I manage to avoid Carla for the most part, apart from when she walks through the mess created by Rafe. She always makes sure to really rub her feet into the floor, or to kick the mess up the wall.
Still, it’s a routine. And I find myself clinging to it, clinging to the certainty of what each day will bring.
Kit appears at the kitchen doorway a few days into my Rafe-imposed punishment as I’m finishing up my dinner. My eyes are on the verge of closing by themselves, but I straighten. His eyes drop down to my wrists. “They look better.”
Pushing away my empty bowl, I nod. The bruising is healing, still there but lighter than it was. “Can I get you something?”
He looks around the kitchen, his violet eyes dropping to the floor in front of the hearth. “Ah – no. I actually brought you something.”
He lifts the bag at his side awkwardly. “It took a few days to arrive.”
I blink as he steps forward, placing the bag in front of me. “For me?”
Kit rubs at his neck. “You don’t… I know you don’t have anything. It’s not much, but you can’t go on without any clothes. Or… other things.”
There’s a hint of color in his cheeks as I look up at him for a long moment. “Thank you.”
He nods in response. And then he’s gone.
And I’m left with three new sets of clothes. Some basic underwear. A toothbrush. Shampoo. Sanitary products.
A hairbrush. And conditioner.
I nearly cry again when Ellen quietly points me towards a spare bathroom. “For you to use during your… stay.”
My days begin to pass relatively peacefully. And if I can’t stop myself from glancing at Rafe’s back as he disappears away from me, if I look for Kit in the creaking shadows at night, then it’s a small price to pay for being left the hell alone.
I don’t see Silas at all.
No taunts, with the exception of Clara’s little digs. Nobody chains me up, or threatens me, or spits in my face. I get regular meals, and I manage to sneak a towel down to the kitchen that I use as a pillow for my head.
“Really,” I say to myself in the little bathroom mirror one night. “This is practically a luxury.”
Ignoring the deepening circles under my eyes, I poke at my hair despondently. It’s still knotted as hell, even though I’ve used most of the conditioner from Kit on trying to work through it. Sighing, I flick the light off and head back to the kitchen.
“Anastasia,” Ellen turns to me with surprise. “You’re done for today?”
I nod. The cereal Rafe chose today wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Ellen sighs, and my eyes slide past her to the stack of plates. “I might need your help at dinner.”
My eyes jerk back to her. Pleading. “What about Clara?”
Ellen grimaces. “She’s sick today.”
Of course she is.
“I know you don’t like it,” Ellen says in a no-nonsense tone, “but if you can avoid throwing soup on anyone, I would very much appreciate it.”
I flush. “That was one time.”
“The only time.” Ellen pins me with a frown, and I relent, holding up my hands.
“Yes, the only time.”
Unless Rafe decides to mouth off again.
But tonight, he’s nowhere to be seen. I carry out the plates, setting one in front of Silas and one in front of Kit. When I place one down in front of Rafe’s empty chair, Silas deigns to address me.
“Take it away,” he says abruptly. “He’s not coming back until later.”
Silently, I pull the plate back. Maybe I’ll get a respite from the floor wars tomorrow.
Silas and Kit are talking when I come back out with a tray.
“It seems to be everywhere,” Silas sighs. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than a bad flu.”
Kit scoffs. “The press like to exaggerate. Probably no more than a cold.”
My hands shake as I try to reach over and place the heavy tray in the center of the table. Warm hands cover mine, gently setting it down. “I’ve got it.”
“Thanks.” I don’t look at Kit as I ease back, fully intending to escape to the safety of the kitchen. But Silas, it would seem, has other plans.
“Anastasia.”
Bracing myself, I turn. “Yes?”
Silas watches me, but he doesn’t say anything. I lift up my chin. “Did I do something wrong?”
Apparently, even my words are wrong, because his eyes harden. “Sit.”
I cast a glance towards Kit, but he’s watching Silas with his eyebrows furrowed.
Now I’m really worried. “Uh – actually, I think I hear Ellen calling—,”
“Sit. Down.”
I sit my ass gingerly in an empty chair.
“There we go.” Silas settles back in his chair. He looks casual, his sleeves pushed back as he reaches for his glass, taking a sip of wine before he places it back down. “How have you settled in?”
“Uh…,” My eyes flick between him and Kit. “Fine.”
As fine as you can when you have absolutely zero choice.
“Good,” he says silkily. “In that case, would you care to explain why you haven’t been completing the tasks I set out for you?”
I frown. “I have.”
“No, you haven’t.” His eyes lock with mine. “I gave Ellen a list of tasks, and I expect them to be completed. Daily. By you.”
That long-ass fucking list. Blinking, I feel my cheeks growing hot. “But the floors—,”
“Excuses don’t wash with me,” he says mildly. “I expect the full list to be completed. Every day. It’s not our fault if you’re not moving fast enough.”
I stare at him.
I get up before sunrise.
I don’t stop until it’s dark.
I don’t stop at all. Fury washes across my vision in white hot streaks.
“Very well,” I grit out, pushing my chair back. “Is that all?”
Slowly, he nods. A smug smile curls the corner of his lips, and how I fucking despise him for it. “I look forward to seeing an improvement in your work ethic.”
Sanctimonious prick. I bite down on my tongue, hard, focusing on the bite of pain to stop me from opening my mouth and telling him exactly what I think of his orders and where he can shove his fucking work ethic.
But I still slam the door behind me.
