Chapter 3

The world tilted. I picked up the pitcher, my hands shaking.

"Just dropped this, Tori. Sorry," I called out, my voice sounding distant, strange to my own ears.

I had to act normal. I had to think.

Devastation was a cold, hollowing thing. It settled in my bones.

That night, I didn' t sleep. Her words, Chloe' s laughter, played over and over.

He ruined my life.

The 99th game... unforgettable... break him.

The next morning, I went about my duties. I smiled. I fetched. I cared for the woman who despised me, who had stolen five years of my life for a petty, twisted revenge.

Inside, something was hardening. The love I' d nurtured for so long was curdling into something else, something cold and bitter.

During my next break, I used a burner phone I' d bought months ago for emergencies – a vague premonition I hadn' t understood until now.

I called Seattle.

"Aunt Carol?"

Her voice, no-nonsense and kind, was a lifeline. My mother' s sister. They' d been estranged after my parents died, Carol disapproving of their association with the Davenports, of me staying here.

"Ethan? Is that you, honey? What' s wrong?"

Tears I hadn' t realized I was holding back streamed down my face. "I need help, Aunt Carol. I need to get out of here."

I told her everything. The lie, the overheard conversation, the planned "99th game."

She listened, her silence punctuated by sharp intakes of breath.

"That... that monster," she finally said, her voice tight with anger. "Of course, I'll help you, Ethan. We'll get you out. We' ll figure something out."

Hope, a different kind of hope, flickered. Escape.

A few days later, Tori had a new visitor.

"Ethan, this is Marcus Thorne," she announced, her voice bright. "My new personal trainer. He' s going to help me with my rehabilitation."

Marcus was all charm and sculpted muscles, a fitness influencer type. He smirked at me, a knowing look in his eyes.

Tori simpered at him, her hand resting possessively on his arm.

"Marcus thinks I' m making wonderful progress, don' t you, darling?"

"Amazing progress, Tori. You' re a fighter," he said, his eyes flicking over her.

Then, Tori turned to me, her expression shifting subtly, a glint of malice in her eyes. "Ethan, Marcus needs some special protein powder from that health store downtown. Be a dear and fetch it for him, will you?"

Marcus handed me a list. Demeaning. Fetch.

She was flaunting him, this new tool in her arsenal of torment.

He was her lover, it was obvious. Another way to rub my face in her power, her desirability, while I remained the servant.

"And Ethan," Marcus added, his voice smooth, "while you' re at it, my car needs a wash. The keys are on the hall table."

I looked at Tori. She smiled, a sweet, poisonous smile.

"Don't keep Marcus waiting, Ethan."

My spirit, already eroded, fractured a little more. Each demeaning task, each casual cruelty, was a step. With each step, the love I' d felt for her disappeared.

I went. I fetched. I washed his car.

But I was also planning. Aunt Carol was wiring money, arranging things.

A new identity. A new life.

The 99th game was coming. I had to be ready.