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.

The next morning, Eva pushed the breakfast cart into the master suite. Her thumb was wrapped in a thick bandage.

The room was dim. Alek was still in bed, tangled in the gray sheets. He was muttering something in his sleep, his brow furrowed in distress.

Eva set the coffee cup on the nightstand. Clink.

Alek's eyes flew open.

In a blur of motion, his hand shot out. He grabbed her wrist.

He grabbed the injured hand.

Eva let out a muffled cry of pain as his fingers squeezed the bandage.

Alek blinked, the fog of sleep clearing. He saw her face. He looked down at his hand crushing her injury.

He didn't let go.

He yanked her forward. Eva lost her balance, falling against the side of the mattress.

Alek sat up. The sheet fell to his waist. His chest was bare, defined muscle moving with his heavy breathing.

"Why didn't you move?" he rasped, his voice thick with sleep.

Eva pointed to her throat with her free hand. I can't.

Alek scoffed. He released her wrist, but immediately reached up and grabbed her chin. He pulled her face close to his.

"There was a hair on my pillow," he lied. His eyes searched hers. "Sloppy."

Eva stared back. The pillowcase was fresh. He just wanted a reason to touch her.

His hand slid down from her jaw. His fingers wrapped around her neck, not choking, but resting. His thumb pressed against her carotid artery.

He closed his eyes.

Eva held her breath. Her heart was racing, pounding against his fingertips. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Alek kept his eyes closed. He seemed to be drinking in the rhythm of her fear.

"Fast," he whispered. "Like a little bird flying into a window."

Eva felt bile rise in her throat. She stood rigid, forced to endure his touch.

Alek's eyes snapped open. They were clear now, sharp and cold.

"Are you cursing me in that head of yours, Eva?"

Eva averted her gaze.

Alek pushed her away abruptly, as if she had burned him.

"Draw my bath," he ordered, turning away. "And get out."

Eva stumbled back. She rushed into the bathroom, her legs shaking.

She turned the faucets on full blast. The water roared into the massive stone tub.

She gripped the edge of the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Hate burned in her chest, hot and purifying.

Ring.

Alek's phone.

Eva reached out and turned the water flow down, just enough to hear.

"Dr. Evans," Alek's voice floated in from the bedroom. It was different. Respectful. Desperate.

"Is the team ready?"

Pause.

"I don't care about the cost. I want the best. The vocal cord reconstruction... yes."

Eva froze.

"She needs to speak again," Alek said. "Fix it. Whatever it takes."

Eva gripped the sink until her knuckles turned white.

He wasn't talking about Arvo or Britt. The specificity... vocal cord reconstruction. A cold dread washed over her. He suspected. This wasn't about fixing someone; it was about exposing her. Or worse, ensuring her silence was permanent, carved into her throat with a surgeon's blade.

Hypocrite. Monster.

She turned the water back up, drowning out his voice, drowning out the terror.