Chapter 3

Harlow knelt in the courtyard all night. The cold seeped into her bones, aggravating her existing injuries until every part of her body was a symphony of pain. When dawn broke, a servant finally helped her to her feet and back to her room.

She ignored the servant's pleas to rest. She had to get to the old Barnes estate. She had to receive her punishment and leave this place for good.

She was limping down the grand staircase when Kaden appeared at the bottom, his brow furrowed. "Where are you going?"

"Your mother has summoned me to the main house," Harlow replied, her voice flat and emotionless.

Kaden's expression darkened. He was about to say something when Brittaney's cheerful voice floated down from the top of the stairs.

"Going to the main house? Are you running to tattle to the old lady, Harlow?" Brittaney descended the stairs, deliberately using Harlow's first name with a familiar contempt.

Harlow ignored her and continued toward the front door.

"Stop." Kaden's voice was a command. He grabbed her arm, his grip like iron. "You're not going anywhere. Brittaney wants to go shopping. You will accompany her."

He looked her up and down, his eyes filled with disdain for her simple, worn dress. "I'll give you some money. Buy yourself something decent. You look pathetic."

Harlow felt a hysterical laugh bubble in her throat. In five years, he had never once offered to buy her anything. His sudden "generosity" was obviously just another way to appease Brittaney.

"No, thank you," she said, her voice like ice. "I have to go to the main house."

Before she could finish, Kaden gestured to his guards. "Put her in the car."

They forced her into the back of the limousine without another word.

The shopping trip was torture. Brittaney fluttered from one expensive boutique to another, her energy boundless, her laughter echoing through the mall. Harlow was forced to follow, carrying an ever-growing mountain of shopping bags.

Her back felt like it was on fire. Her leg throbbed. Her knees, bruised from kneeling all night, buckled with every step. Finally, she couldn't go on. The bags slipped from her numb fingers and fell to the floor. She leaned against a wall, gasping for breath, too weak to even speak.

Brittaney sauntered over, a smug smile on her face. "Tired already? You're so delicate, Harlow."

Harlow stared at her, her face a blank mask. She knew Brittaney was doing this on purpose, savoring every moment of her suffering. There was no escape, not until Mrs. Barnes officially granted the divorce.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself off the wall and bent to pick up the bags.

But Brittaney wasn't finished with her.

When they returned to the mansion, Brittaney pointed to the mountain of new clothes. "Wash these."

Kaden, who had been reading a newspaper, looked up. He didn't even glance at Harlow. "Do as she says."

Harlow was stunned. "But... there are maids for that. And my leg... my back..."

Kaden finally lifted his eyes and saw her pale, sweat-drenched face. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of something-pity, perhaps-crossed his features.

Brittaney saw it too. She immediately sighed, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh, never mind. It's fine. I'll do it myself. I wouldn't want to trouble the great Mrs. Barnes, of course."

The sarcasm was thick. Kaden's expression hardened instantly. He turned his fury on Harlow.

"She's offering to do it herself, and you just stand there? What's wrong with you washing a few clothes? It's not like you do anything else around here."

The words hit Harlow harder than any physical blow. She went silent.

She was the daughter of a chauffeur, a servant. Even after five years as the lady of the house, in his eyes, that's all she would ever be. A servant.

Without another word, she turned and began carrying the clothes to the laundry room.

As she left, she heard Brittaney wrap her arms around Kaden's neck. "Oh, Kaden, you're the best. You always take care of me."

His voice, soft and indulgent, followed her. "Anything for you, my love."

Harlow looked at the mountain of delicate silks and fabrics piled in the laundry room and felt like the biggest fool in the world.

It was long past midnight when she finished. The repeated motion of scrubbing had reopened the wounds on her back. Her leg was swollen and hot to the touch. An infection had set in, and a fever was raging through her body.

She stumbled blindly up the stairs, her vision blurring. She made it to her bedroom before collapsing onto the floor, unconscious.

When she woke up, she was in a sterile white room. A nurse was adjusting an IV drip connected to her arm.

"You're awake," the nurse said kindly. "You have a high fever. Mr. Barnes brought you in himself. He was very worried. He specifically told us to take extra good care of you."

Harlow's heart gave a strange, painful jolt. Kaden? Worried about her? She knew better than to believe it.

The door to her room burst open.

Kaden stormed in, his face a mask of thunderous rage. He was holding a pistol, and he pressed the cold barrel directly against her forehead.