83

Moore

"It pays to be a billionaire’s wife. Only someone with such status will resume work three weeks after her first day," Brittany sneered, her sharp eyes narrowing in disgust.

I remembered my first day at this hospital vividly—Brittany had hurled insult after insult at me.

Now, nothing had changed.

I glanced at her, my expression blank, radiating an indifference I knew would only piss her off more.

I don’t give a damn what you think about me.

I wasn’t here for Brittany or anyone else. I was looking for one person.

Ethan.

It felt like months since I last came here. The memories of that day were still raw, still bleeding.

I had stopped coming after Ethan had given me those jackets, a moment of kindness that had cost me dearly.

Lucien had punished me for it.

By dragging Athena to his bedroom.

By making me watch. He had also had me whipped the next morning, rendering my body useless while he also made sure my clothes, the very one I and Lillard got were burned.

A violent shudder ran down my spine. Disgust. Humiliation. I didn’t want to remember, but the images wouldn’t leave me alone.

And another image too. That dream in London. The one that had been too vivid to be a dream. No matter how hard I try to normalize the situation, it always gets back to me.

I felt Lucien's cheeks, he had me wrapped in his arms as he settled from his disturbing dream. Why would I dream about that? About Lucien holding me, and finding solace in my embrace?

I shrugged, shaking my head a little while my hair fanned my face, I shovelled it away, tugging it at the back of my ear.

As usual, paparazzi were everywhere and I knew my story would be selling again. Bloggers seemed to be making money off my story.

I clenched my jaw and forced my feet to move, brushing past Brittany without another glance. The lack of reaction only seemed to infuriate her more.

I pushed through the familiar halls, heading toward the room where everyone gathered at the start of the shift.

Before I could step inside, Athena’s secretary stormed after me, her presence like a dark cloud hovering over my shoulder. She shoved a neatly folded set of clothes into my hands, her eyes brimming with contempt.

"You're lucky your loving husband requested this for you," she spat, the words dripping with sarcasm. "Miss Faris wouldn’t have minded you showing your tits to every single hungry vulture in this hospital."

What is with this never-ending hatred toward me?

Before I could even react, she slapped the clothes against my chest with force.

"You better change fast and be ready, or you won’t like what happens if she finds you dressed like some rich wife playing pretend."

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay calm.

Of course.

Lucien had changed my clothes.

Because the last ones probably embarrassed him.

I wasn’t even shocked.

Just… exhausted.

I turned toward the room again, but before I could take another step, a small voice rang out.

"Moore!"

Before I could react, two thin arms wrapped around me, squeezing me tight.

I stiffened, taken aback. Who—?

I looked down to see a bright-eyed young girl, grinning up at me with excitement.

"Oh, uh…" I blinked, completely caught off guard.

The girl quickly pulled away, her cheeks turning pink. "I’m so sorry!" she blurted. "I just— I didn’t think you’d actually come back!"

I raised an eyebrow. "And why would you think that?"

She hesitated, flustered. "I mean, uh… No offense, but someone in your position wouldn’t exactly… you know… want to be a cleaner."

I stared at her for a moment before laughing softly.

She looked horrified. "I— I didn’t mean it like that!" she rushed to clarify. "I swear!"

I smiled, shaking my head. "Relax. I get it."

The tension drained from her shoulders, and she let out a relieved sigh.

"What’s your name again?" I asked, realizing I had forgotten.

"Mirabel," she said, her voice light and sweet.

"Right." I nodded. "How’ve you been, Mirabel?"

She shrugged, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "Oh, you know. The usual. Working with a bunch of grumpy old ladies who suck at love and life."

I laughed—actually laughed.

She reminded me so much of Vivian.

Except Vivian was more mature, sharper with her words. Mirabel still had a youthful playfulness to her.

I found myself wondering why a girl like her was working as a hospital cleaner. She seemed so full of life—she could be doing so much more.

Mirabel tilted her head. "So, why were you gone for so long?"

I hesitated.

What do I even say?

I couldn't exactly tell her the truth.

That I had been drowning in a cold war with my husband.

That every night, I wondered why Lucien hadn’t thrown me out yet. Or kill me.

That I was stuck in a life where I was neither a wife nor a prisoner, just something in between.

Instead, I offered her the safest excuse.

"I had a lot on my plate," I said.

Mirabel frowned, as if she didn’t quite believe me, but before she could ask more, a sharp voice cut through the hallway.

"Mirabel!"

We both turned toward the sound.

Brittany stood a few feet away, arms crossed, her lips curled in disdain.

"You’ll have plenty of time to chat with your slave-ass queen after work. I can't believe she's back here after cruising the whole of London with Mr. Giordano. Get over here now you!"

My spine stiffened.

There it was again.

That ugly, biting hatred.

I barely reacted, but Mirabel bristled beside me.

She started to raise her head, ready to snap back, but I placed a gentle hand on her wrist.

"Don’t," I murmured.

I wasn’t going to let her get into trouble because of me.

But before we could move—

Another voice erupted.

Cold. Sharp. Unforgiving.

"Maybe if you watched your weight and your mouth, you’d be cruising places with someone by now."

I froze.

That voice.

That familiar voice.

My gaze snapped toward the entrance, and my breath hitched.

Ethan.