Thirty minutes later, the door creaked open again. Hailey stepped inside, her usual cold expression firmly in place. In her hand, she carried a shimmering red gown and a black heels. The dress was long-sleeved, its fabric smooth and luxurious, clearly chosen to cover all my bruises. She barely glanced at me as she placed it on the bed.
“You’ve got ten minutes to shower,” she said sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument. “After that, put this on.”
Her words were clipped and rude, as if I were nothing more than a chore she was forced to deal with. She didn’t wait for a response, just turned on her heel and crossed her arms, waiting impatiently by the door.
I nodded silently, too drained to argue or react. Without a word, I forced my trembling legs to carry me toward the bathroom.
