14. A Lesson In Cruelty.
1621 Words
SADIE’S POV
I caught Casey just as she was pouring herself a second coffee.
Desperation must have been written all over my face because she barely hesitated when I asked.
“Do you have a spare shirt?” I asked, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt.
Casey gave me a quick once-over, her eyes pausing on the wet stain soaking through my blouse—and the way the fabric clung embarrassingly to my skin.
“I didn’t bring one,” she said, wincing. “But—” she tugged at her own top, considering, “we can switch. I’m smaller up here anyway. It won’t show as much.”
Relief flooded my chest so quickly it made my throat ache.
“Are you sure?” I whispered.
“Come on,” Casey said, nodding toward the restroom.
We slipped inside and locked the door behind us.
At the mirror, I caught my reflection—saw the damp patches, the way my skin showed through the ruined blouse.
I stared, mortified.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, horrified.
“No wonder Damon told me to change,” I said, my voice barely a thread. “It’s completely see-through.”
I clutched the edge of the counter, a flush creeping up my neck.
“I’m seriously amazed I haven’t been fired yet.”
Casey snorted, coming up beside me and slapping on some lip balm like we were having a casual conversation.
“Are you kidding me? You’re probably the best assistant he’s ever had.--”
“Most assistants don’t go around flashing their boobs,” Casey smiled as she joked.
“Right. Really helpful.” I said between my forced laugh.
I peeled off my ruined blouse, shivering slightly under the cold air, trying not to think about how the lace of my bra must have been practically visible right after the juice spilled.
No wonder Damon had told me to change.
I tugged on Casey’s clean shirt—tight, but dry—and let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I said weakly.
Casey narrowed her eyes. “You know what would really be a lifesaver? If someone put that witch in her place.”
“Well,” I said automatically, forcing a light laugh. “Technically, I spilled the juice on myself. I was kinda...clumsy.”
The words sounded hollow even to my own ears.
Because no matter how much I tried to spin it, a part of me—quiet, aching—knew the truth.
Bella had looked at me like I was dirt.
And I had let her.
After changing, I stood there, tugging at the hem and fidgeting with the neckline.
“This shirt feels... really low on me,” I said, peeking over at Casey.
Casey shrugged. “Just cover it up with your blazer. Or, hell, wear mine.”
I hesitated.
“My blazer’s button... popped off,” I admitted.
It had been hanging on by a thread for weeks.
Another thing I couldn’t afford to fix.
Another tiny shame I carried with me everywhere I went.
I glanced at Casey’s blazer.
She was a little bit slimmer than me, her busts smaller—it wouldn’t fit me right, not even if I tried.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, buttoned what I could, and squared my shoulders anyway.
But I squared my shoulders anyway.
Because the clock was ticking.
Because I still had a job to do.
Because Damon Prince was expecting me.
And no amount of broken pride could change that.
SADIE’S POV
By the time the clock blinked 4:40 PM, my phone buzzed with an unknown number.
Bella.
I should’ve known.
Her voice was cool, casual.
“Come down and help me with my shopping bags.”
Again, no please, no thank you.
Just an order tossed at me like crumbs.
I grabbed my blazer, took the elevator down, and stepped outside into the late afternoon haze.
A red car pulled into the driveway — a sleek, gleaming thing I couldn’t even name.
All I knew was that it looked like it cost more than my entire life.
Bella swung out of the driver’s seat, phone pressed to her ear, designer sunglasses perched like a crown.
She didn’t look at me — not right away.
She just kept talking into her phone, laughing lightly, tossing her hair like she owned the pavement.
When she finally hung up, she gave me a glance that was barely even that.
A flick of her hand. A queen dismissing a servant.
“Take my gowns,” she said simply, motioning toward the backseat.
I swallowed and moved to open the door, the heavy car door groaning slightly.
Inside, four delicate dresses hung in garment bags, the kinds you didn’t dare wrinkle or breathe on too hard.
One after another, I eased them out carefully, looping the handles around my right wrist.
The dresses smelled like expensive fabric and a life I would never touch.
Bella stood there and watched me without offering to help.
Of course she did.
Once I’d secured the fourth gown and stepped back, my left hand still bracing the open car door, I turned to her, keeping my voice steady.
“Is there anything else you need me to carry?”
Neutral. Professional. Hollow inside.
Bella shifted, folding her arms loosely across her chest.
There was a glint in her eye. Something crueler than usual.
“You know who just called me?” she said sweetly.
“Someone who told me you have a thing for Mr. Prince.”
Her words struck like a slap, but I didn’t flinch. I couldn’t afford to.
I kept my voice calm, even as my pulse hammered against my ribs.
“That’s not true,” I said, gripping the car door tighter.
“And whoever said that... they’re wrong. You shouldn’t trust strangers.”
My voice was even.
My hands were trembling.
The weight of the dresses dug into my arm like punishment.
Bella tilted her head, studying me like a cat would study a cornered mouse.
And in that moment, standing there half in the car and half out of it, I realized:
She didn’t need to hear my denial.
She’d already decided who I was.
And no matter how careful I was — no matter how small and invisible I tried to be —
I would never be small enough for her.
Bella’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile, the kind that made the air feel thinner around me.
“Oh, this isn’t just some random person,” she said sweetly.
“It was Angelica. Your little sister, wasn’t it? She would know exactly what kind of girl you are.”
I blinked, my heart stuttering.
Angelica?
I swallowed hard, the gowns trembling slightly in my grip.
“Miss Rosio,” I began, keeping my voice low, careful, professional—“I’m just working—”
“Oh, please!” she cut in, sharp and amused.
“Who wouldn’t have a crush on Mr. Prince? Are you really going to stand there and tell me you don’t find him handsome? Rich? Perfect?”
I pressed my lips together, trying to breathe around the knot in my throat.
“That’s not what I said—” I whispered, barely able to get the words out.
Bella leaned closer, the open car door still half a barrier between us, her voice slicing like glass.
“Listen to me,” she said.
“Stop pretending. Know your place.”
She nudged the car door lightly, and the heavy frame shifted — closing the gap between us until it was only cracked open a sliver.
“Mr. Prince would never, not even in a thousand years, end up with someone like you.”
The words were soft.
Soft enough to kill.
I stood there, stunned, the dresses digging deeper into my arm, the world tilting sideways.
I couldn’t even find my voice — just the brittle pieces of it, scattered somewhere under my ribs.
“I won’t,” I managed finally, hoarse and small.
The only words I could gather.
The only ones that wouldn’t shatter in my mouth.
Bella smiled wider, slow and cold, like she’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“Good,” she said.
“Because if you even think about it...”
She slammed the car door shut.
Pain exploded through me.
I didn’t even have time to scream—the door caught my hand between its heavy frame and the car body, trapping it mercilessly.
A strangled sound tore from my throat.
“Miss Rosio—! My hand—!”
I gasped, desperate, thinking I should drop the gowns. But then again, if they got ruined, I would be the one blamed.
Bella didn’t even flinch.
She turned, calm and unbothered, tapping the lock button on her key fob with a sharp click.
The door locked — sealing my hand tighter — and she walked away, her heels clicking coldly across the pavement like applause.
I stood there, trembling, pain blinding everything else.
Hot tears blurred my vision, but I bit down hard, refusing to make a sound.
Refusing to fall apart.
Not here.
The old scar across my hand — the one still healing — throbbed with a savage, tearing ache.
I tugged, weakly at first, then harder, trying to yank myself free.
The door wouldn’t budge.
It was like the car itself had swallowed me whole.
And for a long, splintering moment, I realized:
There was no one coming to help.
No one even looking.
Just me.
Me and the cold, metallic silence.
- Writer
