Eva slipped into the narrow changing room adjacent to the staff quarters. It was little more than a closet, smelling of bleach and starch.

She locked the door. She jiggled the handle, ensuring the deadbolt had fully engaged. Click.

Safe.

She exhaled, a long, shaky breath that rattled in her chest. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her uniform. She peeled the fabric away, revealing pale skin marred by the red imprint of Alek's fingers on her jaw.

She looked at herself in the small, cracked mirror above the sink. Her eyes were hollow, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them.

She turned on the faucet. The water ran cold. She splashed it onto her face, the shock of it grounding her, pulling her out of the panic spiral.

The doorknob turned.

It wasn't a rattle. It was a slow, deliberate rotation.

Eva froze, water dripping from her chin. She stared at the door in the mirror's reflection.

The sound of metal sliding against metal followed. A key.

The lock disengaged with a heavy thud.

Eva spun around, clutching her unbuttoned uniform together at her chest.

Alek stepped inside.

He filled the small space instantly. He didn't look drunk, which was worse. He looked focused. Predatory.

He closed the door behind him. He turned the lock, sealing them in.

Eva backed up until her hips hit the edge of the small vanity table. There was nowhere to go. The walls seemed to shrink, pressing in on her.

Alek took a step forward. His eyes dropped to her shoulder, where the uniform had slipped, revealing the curve of her collarbone.

"Hiding?" he asked. His voice was devoid of humor.

Eva opened her mouth to scream, but the conditioning choked her. Be silent. Be invisible. Only a harsh exhale of air escaped her lips.

Alek smirked. "Pathetic."

He reached out. He didn't go for her skin. He grabbed the collar of her uniform.

Rip.

The sound of tearing fabric was deafening in the small room. Buttons popped, pinging against the tiled floor like hail.

Eva gasped, instinctively bringing her hands up to push him away. Her palms hit his chest. It was like pushing against a marble wall.

He caught her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head against the mirror.

With his free hand, he swept the toiletries off the vanity. Bottles of lotion and hairspray crashed to the floor, rolling into the corners.

He pressed his body against hers, trapping her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck.

His teeth grazed her sensitive skin. It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim. A bite.

Pain sparked, sharp and immediate. Tears pricked Eva's eyes, hot and stinging. Her body began to tremble, violent shudders racking her frame.

Alek stopped.

He didn't pull away, but he froze. He could feel her shaking against him. He could feel the terror radiating off her skin like heat.

He pulled back, just enough to look at her.

Eva's face was wet with tears. Her eyes were wide, pleading, terrified.

Something flickered in Alek's expression. His brows knitted together. The cruelty in his eyes wavered, replaced by a flash of confusion, maybe even... regret?

Click-clack. Click-clack.

The sharp staccato of high heels on the hallway tile cut through the tension.

"Alek!"

Hester Crawford's voice was a whip crack.

Alek flinched. The spell broke. The confusion vanished, replaced by a mask of annoyance.

Hester pounded on the door. "Open this door. Now. I know you're in there."

Alek cursed under his breath. He released Eva's wrists.

Eva slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor amidst the scattered bottles. She pulled the torn edges of her uniform together, curling into a ball.

Alek straightened his jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, composing himself in a split second.

He unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Hester Crawford stood there, dressed in impeccable silk, her face a mask of icy rage. She didn't look at her son. Her gaze went straight past him, landing on Eva.

Her lip curled. Pure disgust.

"Mother," Alek said, stepping into her line of sight.

"Get out of the way," Hester snapped. "You're late for the conference call with the board. And you're here... playing with the help? Don't give me that pathetic, wide-eyed look, girl. I know exactly what you're doing."

"It's none of your business," Alek growled.

"Everything in this house is my business," Hester retorted. "Especially when it threatens the family name."

While they locked eyes, Eva saw the opening.

She scrambled to her feet. She grabbed a spare oversized janitor's jacket hanging on a hook near the door.

She bolted.

She squeezed past Alek and Hester, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor.

"Hey!" Hester shouted.

Eva didn't look back. She ran down the corridor, the oversized jacket billowing around her. She turned a corner, then another, her lungs burning.

She found a supply closet at the end of the service hall. She threw herself inside and pulled the door shut, sliding down into the darkness among the mops and buckets.

Eva sat in the dark for ten minutes. She listened to the house. When the shouting faded, she changed.

The spare uniform she found in the closet was two sizes too big. It hung off her frame, the gray fabric coarse and smelling of dust. But it covered her.

She pushed the door open.

Hester Crawford was waiting.

She wasn't alone. Two security guards stood behind her, their arms crossed.

Eva stopped. She lowered her head, trying to make herself small, trying to sidestep toward the service stairs.

Hester stepped into her path.

Smack.

The slap came out of nowhere. It was precise, practiced. Hester's ring caught Eva's cheekbone, cutting the skin.

Eva's head snapped to the side. She tasted blood.

She didn't make a sound. She brought a hand to her face, covering the stinging flesh.

Hester didn't yell. She pulled a wet wipe from her purse and began to clean her hand, scrubbing each finger as if she had touched rotting meat.

"You are a stain on this house," Hester said. Her voice was conversational, chillingly calm. "Do not think for a second that my son cares about you. You are a receptacle for his anger. Nothing more."

Eva stared at the floor tiles.

"Go to the lower levels," Hester commanded, tossing the used wipe into a nearby bin. "You are banned from the main wing until further notice. Go clean the filth where you belong."

Eva bowed. A reflex. A survival tactic.

She turned and walked away, her spine rigid.

"Increase the dosage," she heard Hester murmur to the guard as she walked away. "She's looking too alert."

Eva's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't falter.

She reached the servants' quarters in the basement. It was louder here, the air thick with the smell of industrial cleaner and cabbage.

Three maids were gathered by the vending machine. They didn't see Eva in the shadows.

"Did you hear?" one whispered. "Senator Bowen just announced his re-election campaign."

"The nerve," another scoffed. "After selling his own daughter to pay off his gambling debts? Man has no soul."

"Alek keeps her around as a trophy," the third said, laughing darkly. "A reminder of what happens when you cross a Crawford. I bet he drugged her to shut her up. No way she just went mute on her own."

Eva pressed her back against the wall. Her fingernails dug into her palms.

Is that what they think? That I'm broken?

She slipped away before they saw her. She ducked into the laundry room.

The hum of the massive industrial washers drowned out her thoughts. She walked to the nearest machine and began shoving dirty sheets into the drum.

Her hand brushed her pocket. She felt the small plastic bottle there.

She pulled it out. It was labeled "Vitamins - Daily."

She opened it. Inside were white pills.

Hester's pills.

Eva walked to the drain in the floor. She dumped the pills out, watching them dissolve in the gray water. From a hidden pocket in her undershirt, she pulled out a nearly identical bottle. This one contained actual vitamins she had pilfered from the infirmary supply months ago, exploiting a blind spot in the west-wing camera feed she'd discovered during her first year. She'd learned to manage the rare blood tests with forced hydration and carefully timed meals.

She wasn't drugged. She had been switching them for three years.

She was awake. She was aware. And she was angry.

The TV mounted in the corner of the room flashed a breaking news banner.

SCANDAL ROCKS BOWEN FAMILY.

Eva froze. She looked up.

A photo of a blonde woman appeared on the screen. Britt Bowen. Her half-sister.

The headline scrolled: BRITT BOWEN ARRESTED FOR DUI. DRUGS FOUND IN VEHICLE.

Eva stared at the image of Britt, looking disheveled and defiant in her mugshot. Britt, who had tormented Eva as a child. Britt, who was Daddy's favorite.

The machine behind her beeped loudly, signaling the end of a cycle.

The door to the laundry room burst open.

Felicity, the young kitchen maid, ran in. Her face was flushed.

"Eva!" she gasped. "You have to come. Now."

Eva raised an eyebrow.

"It's Mr. Crawford," Felicity said, wringing her hands. "He's asking for you. He saw the news."

The elevator numbers climbed. 1... 2... 3...

Eva watched her reflection in the polished brass doors. The cut on her cheek had stopped bleeding, but it was swelling, a jagged red line against her pale skin.

"It's bad," Felicity whispered, standing in the corner of the elevator. "They're saying Arvo was with her."

Eva turned her head sharply.

Arvo Crawford. Alek's younger brother. The family failure.

"He... he used company funds," Felicity stammered, realizing she was saying too much but unable to stop. "To bail her out. To hush it up. But the press found out."

Eva closed her eyes for a second.

It wasn't just a DUI. It was a merger of disasters. The Bowens and the Crawfords, tied together again by stupidity and greed.

Ding.

The doors opened to the penthouse.

Felicity stayed in the elevator. She pressed the 'Close' button frantically.

Eva stepped out.

The penthouse was dark. The only light came from the city skyline through the panoramic windows. The air smelled of expensive bourbon and destruction.

Glass crunched under her shoe.

Eva looked down. A crystal tumbler lay shattered on the marble floor.

"Did you know?"

Alek was sitting on the leather sofa, shrouded in shadow. The blue light of a tablet illuminated his face, making him look like a ghost.

He swiped the screen violently, then tossed the tablet onto the coffee table. It landed with a heavy clack.

The screen showed Britt's mugshot.

Alek stood up. He walked toward her, kicking a piece of broken glass across the floor.

"Your sister," he spat the word out like poison. "She's a cancer. Just like your father."

Eva shook her head. She held out her hands, palms up. I didn't know.

"Don't lie to me!" Alek roared.

He grabbed a stack of papers from the table and threw them at her.

They fluttered through the air, hitting her chest, her face. They scattered on the floor around her.

Eva looked down. Bank transfers. Arvo Crawford to Britt Bowen. Huge sums.

"My brother," Alek said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Is facing an embezzlement charge because of your sister's drug habit."

He pointed to the floor.

"Clean it up."

Eva looked at the papers.

"Not the papers," Alek said. "The glass."

He gestured to the shards of the crystal tumbler scattered near his feet.

"Use your hands."

Eva hesitated.

"Do it," he commanded.

Eva knelt. She reached for a large shard of jagged crystal. She picked it up, placing it in her other palm.

She reached for another. And another.

A tiny sliver, invisible against the marble, sliced into her thumb.

She flinched. A sharp intake of breath.

A drop of bright crimson blood welled up. It seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before falling, a single, perfect sphere of red against the pristine white carpet.

Alek's eyes snapped to the blood.

His pupils dilated. He took a step back, his breath hitching. He didn't look triumphant. He looked sick. A faint sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead, his jaw clenching as if fighting a wave of nausea.

He stared at the red spot on the carpet, then at her bleeding hand.

"Stop," he said. His voice was strained.

Eva kept picking up the glass. She needed to finish.

"I said stop!" Alek shouted. He kicked the coffee table, sending it skidding across the room. "Get out! Get out of my sight!"

Eva scrambled to her feet, clutching the shards of glass in her good hand, blood dripping from the other.

She bowed quickly and backed toward the elevator.

As the doors closed, she saw Alek turn away, running his hands over his face, his shoulders shaking.

He wasn't angry at her. He was unraveling.

Eva looked at her bleeding thumb. The pain was sharp, grounding.

He has a weakness, she thought. He can't stand the sight of real damage.