Three days ago, when I had a severe allergic reaction because someone had deliberately filled my moisturizer with peanut oil—I'd begged Alexander to take me to the healer as my throat closed up. Instead, he locked me in the bathroom, telling the staff I was "having another episode" and needed to "calm down alone."
I was found unconscious hours later by the new gardener, who thankfully had medical training.
When I returned from the healer, Alexander had the gardener fired for "trespassing" in the main house.
Clutching my bag tighter, I turned to leave once more.
But Alexander's hand shot out, grabbing my hair and yanking me backward so hard I heard strands ripping from my scalp.
"Where do you think you're going? Victoria isn't feeling well because of the stress you've caused."
"I didn't—"
His open palm connected with my face before I could finish, the force sending me sprawling across the marble floor.
"Kiss her feet. Three times. Now."
My lip split from the impact, blood dripping onto the remains of my white dress.