Chapter 4

I watched Marcus with Victoria.

He was attentive, devoted.

He'd bring her coffee in the morning, just the way she liked it.

He'd listen patiently to her long, rambling stories about her day, her career aspirations, her feuds with other actresses.

He adjusted the thermostat if she felt a chill, fluffed her pillows, ran her baths.

These were small things, domestic things, but they spoke volumes.

He had never shown me this kind of patient, everyday care.

With me, it was grand gestures, public displays.

With Victoria, it was the quiet intimacy of a shared life.

This was the future he wanted, the woman he truly desired.

My role had always been temporary, a placeholder.

The realization settled in my bones, cold and final.

I was packing the last of my toiletries when I heard a sound from my bedroom.

Victoria.

She stood in the middle of the room, holding my father's Super 8 camera.

My heart leaped into my throat.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.

That camera was my most precious possession. It held memories of my father, of a happier time.

It was sacred.

Victoria turned, a slow, cat-like smile spreading across her face.

"Just admiring this... antique."

She ran a perfectly manicured finger over the lens.

"It seems very important to you, Amelia."

Her tone was light, but her eyes were predatory.

"It is," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Please, put it down."

"Put it down?" she mused. "But I'm rather enjoying holding it."

She tossed it lightly from one hand to the other.

My breath hitched.

"What do you want, Victoria?"

"I want you to understand your place," she said, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You were nothing. A momentary diversion. And now, you're an inconvenience."

She held the camera higher.

"Kneel," she commanded, her eyes glittering with malice. "Kneel and beg me to give it back. Apologize for ever thinking you could mean anything to Marcus."

Humiliation washed over me, hot and sickening.

But the camera... my father's camera...

"Why are you doing this?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm leaving. I agreed to go. Isn't that enough?"

Victoria laughed, a harsh, ugly sound.

"Enough? Oh, darling, it's never enough when someone tries to take what's mine. I want you to suffer. I want you to remember this."

She dangled the camera precariously.

"Kneel. Or this precious heirloom of yours might just... slip."

The threat was clear.

My dignity, or my father's legacy.

Tears welled, blurring my vision.

Slowly, agonizingly, I sank to my knees on the plush carpet.

The shame was a physical weight, crushing me.

"Please," I choked out. "Give it back."

Victoria watched me, her face a mask of triumph.

She had me exactly where she wanted me.

Humiliated. Broken.

"Good girl," she purred.

Then, with a sudden, vicious movement, she didn't just drop the camera.

She threw it.

It arced through the air, spinning, before crashing against the hard marble fireplace surround.

A sickening crack echoed in the silent room.

"No!" I screamed, scrambling forward, desperate to retrieve the shattered pieces.

As I lunged, my hand brushed against Victoria's leg.

It was accidental, a clumsy, desperate movement.

But Victoria seized the opportunity.

She let out a piercing shriek and stumbled backward, her body tumbling dramatically down the short flight of three carpeted steps that led from the main bedroom area to a sunken sitting nook.

It was a performance worthy of an Oscar.

Marcus burst into the room, his face thunderous.

He'd clearly heard the scream, the crash.

His eyes took in the scene: Victoria sprawled at the bottom of the steps, clutching her ankle, feigning agony. Me, kneeling amidst the wreckage of my father's camera.

"Marcus, darling!" Victoria wailed, tears streaming down her perfect face. "She attacked me! She was furious I found her sneaking around, trying to steal things! She pushed me down the stairs! And she... she deliberately smashed that old camera you were so kind to fix for her!"

It was a masterful lie, delivered with practiced, hysterical conviction.

Marcus didn't hesitate. He didn't ask questions. He didn't even look at the broken camera, or at my tear-streaked face.

He saw Victoria, his precious Victoria, apparently injured.

And he exploded.

"You... you vicious little snake!" he roared, his face contorted with rage.

He lunged towards me.

"I tried to explain, "Marcus, no! She's lying! She broke it, she fell on purpose!"

My words were lost in his fury.

He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron.

"I've had enough of your games, your ingratitude!"

He dragged me from the room, his fingers bruising my skin.

He hauled me down the stairs, through the silent, opulent mansion, to the heavy oak door of the wine cellar.

He fumbled with the key, his hands shaking with rage.

He shoved me inside, into the cold, damp darkness.

"You'll stay here until you learn some respect!" he snarled.

The door slammed shut. The heavy bolt slid into place.

I was alone, in the freezing dark, with the broken pieces of my past and the crushing weight of his injustice.

The wine cellar was frigid.

I huddled on the stone floor, the cold seeping into my bones.

My teeth chattered uncontrollably.

I clutched the shattered remnants of my father's Super 8 camera.

The lens was cracked, the casing split.

Just like my heart. Just like my life.

Hours crawled by.

The darkness was absolute, the silence broken only by my own ragged breaths and the occasional drip of condensation.

Physical misery mingled with emotional torment.

I replayed Victoria's cruel taunts, Marcus's blind rage, his instant condemnation.

He hadn't even considered my side. He hadn't hesitated.

Victoria was his truth. I was a lie, an inconvenience.

A wave of delirium washed over me.

The cold, the hunger, the despair.

I saw my father's face, his gentle smile as he showed me how to load film into the camera.

"This will capture our memories, Amy-girl," he'd said.

Now, those memories felt tainted, broken.

"I'm so sorry, Dad," I whispered into the darkness, tears freezing on my cheeks. "I'm so sorry I got involved with him. I should have known. I should have run."

Regret, bitter and profound, consumed me.