Divorcing Billionaire Vincent

CHAPTER SEVEN -- Women of the house

I woke up to a loud bang on the door. My heart jumped, and before I could even sit up, two servants burst into my room. Before I knew what was happening, rough hands seized my arms and hauled me out of bed. My head spun, still heavy with sleep, and I barely found my footing before they dragged me out into the cold hallway.

"Where are you taking me?" I demanded, my voice hoarse. Neither man answered. Their grips were like iron shackles, fingers digging into my arms. My feet struggled to keep up, and I stumbled once or twice. The air smelled faintly of rose oil, and my stomach twisted. Madam Kensington.

The heavy doors swung open, and I barely had a moment to steady myself before a sharp slap exploded across my face. My head snapped to the side, my cheek burning hot.

"You filthy, shameless girl," Madam Kensington spat. Her eyes, cold and sharp, locked onto mine with hatred. "Sneaking out in the dead of night to meet another man? Have you no respect for this family?"

"It’s not what you think," I managed, tasting blood where my teeth had cut my lip.

"Oh, I know exactly what it was." Her gaze swept over me like I was something rotten. "I warned Vincent about you — told him you would disgrace this family. And now here you are, sneaking out like a common whore."

"That’s not true!" My voice cracked. "I wasn’t—"

"Enough!" Her shrill voice cut through the air like a whip. "You’ve done enough. And you will pay for it."

She turned sharply to one of the servants. "Starve her. Lock her up until Vincent returns."

"No, please—"

"And as for that little maid of yours..." Madam Kensington’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "Bring her in."

My stomach dropped. "No! Leave Maya out of this!"

But no one listened. Moments later, Maya was dragged in. Her wide, terrified eyes found mine, and she shook her head slightly, as if warning me not to say anything.

"Please," I begged, my voice breaking. "She’s innocent. She didn’t know—"

"Innocent?" Madam Kensington’s sneer deepened. "That maid of yours was caught smuggling a phone — at your command." She turned to her guards. "And now she's going to pay the price."

"No!" I cried. "Punish me, not her!"

Maya was forced to her knees. The sharp crack of a whip split the air, and I lunged forward, only to be yanked back by the guards. My screams filled the room as the whip struck Maya's back.

"No! Please! I’ll do whatever you want — just don’t hurt her!" I sobbed, thrashing against the guards' hold.

"You should have thought of that before you shamed this family," Madam Kensington said icily. She turned to the servant wielding the whip. "Ten lashes. Make sure she learns her lesson."

"Don’t! Please!" My voice broke, but my pleas were swallowed by Maya's cries. Each lash felt like a blade cutting into my own skin. My throat burned from screaming, and tears blurred my vision as I watched Maya crumple, her back torn and bleeding.

"Enough," Madam Kensington said, flicking her wrist as if Maya were no more than a speck of dust. "Take her away."

Maya was dragged from the room like a lifeless doll. Her blood left a trail across the floor. Her swollen eyes flicked to mine one last time before she disappeared down the hall.

"You monster," I spat, my voice hoarse. My breath came in ragged, angry bursts. "You’ll regret this."

"I doubt it," Madam Kensington sneered. "Lock her up."

The cell was cold and damp, the stone walls slick with moisture. When the maids dumped me onto the hard floor, I barely had the strength to lift my head.

"You should apologize," one of them muttered before stepping back. "Beg her forgiveness. It's your only chance."

I coughed weakly, forcing myself into a sitting position. My face throbbed, my lips split and swollen. My body ached from the way I’d been dragged across the floor.

"Apologize?" I scoffed, spitting blood to the side. "I won’t do that. Not this time."

The maids exchanged nervous glances. "You’ll die in here," one whispered. "She’s furious. She’s already called for—"

"I won’t apologize," I cut her off. "In fact..." I forced a bitter smile, despite the pain that stretched my torn lip. "I won’t leave this cell unless Madam Kensington comes here herself — to apologize to me."

"You’re mad!" one gasped.

"Do you want to die?" the other demanded. "She’ll never—"

"Then I’ll die," I said firmly. "But I won’t crawl to her. Not this time."

They stared at me like I’d grown another head, but I didn’t care. They scurried away, whispering anxiously to each other.

I lay back against the cold wall, hugging my knees to my chest. My body shivered violently, but the cold wasn’t what shook me — it was the bitter determination tightening inside me. I wouldn’t grovel. Not after what she'd done.

Hours passed — or maybe days. I drifted in and out of consciousness, my stomach twisted in painful knots from hunger. My throat burned, and my lips felt dry and cracked. Every sound that echoed down the corridor made me flinch, but no one came to open the door.

At some point, the whispers started. The guards murmured among themselves when they thought I couldn’t hear. They spoke of funeral arrangements. Of Vincent’s absence. Of how Madam Kensington had already begun ordering black veils and mourning dresses.

I smiled bitterly to myself. Let them prepare. Let them believe I was weak enough to die quietly in this pit.

On what I guessed was the fourth day, the cell door creaked open. Madam Kensington’s sharp heels clicked against the stone floor, each step deliberate and slow.

"Still alive?" she asked mockingly.

I said nothing. My throat was too dry to answer.

She laughed coldly. "I heard you’re refusing to come out unless I apologize." Her voice dripped with amusement. "How pathetic."

I lifted my head weakly, but I still managed to glare at her. "You should have killed me when you had the chance."

Her smile widened. "You think Vincent will come back for you?" she sneered. "You think he’ll storm in here and punish me for treating you like the spoiled brat you are?" She laughed louder now. "He won’t. Do you know why? Because he doesn’t care about you. If he did, he’d be here. If he did, he would have sent word."

I swallowed hard, fighting back the lump rising in my throat. I refused to let her see me break.

"You’re nothing," she continued, her eyes gleaming with malice. "A passing fancy. A mistake. And when you die in here, Vincent will move on — to someone better. Someone who knows her place." She stepped closer, bending down until her face was inches from mine. "And no one will remember you."

"If no one will remember me," I rasped, "then why are you so afraid of me?"

Her expression faltered — just for a second — before her smile snapped back into place. "Afraid? Of you?" She chuckled darkly. "I just wanted to see the look on your face when you realized how pointless this all is." She straightened up and brushed imaginary dust from her sleeve. "Enjoy your last days."