I turn around to meet dark eyes glittering with satisfaction.
“Our bathrooms need scrubbing,” she says with a smirk.
My jaw clenches. She’s enjoying this petty power. Making me clean up her messes while she gets to play lady of the manor. Payback for humiliating her in front of her little friends.
“Break anything, and it’s coming out of your wages,” she adds.
I roll my eyes. Thanks for giving me ideas, bitch. I’ll make sure you won’t see the damage coming.
Blanche floats away without another word, leaving me alone with dirty dishes and the bitter taste of defeat.
Twenty minutes later, I’m hauling cleaning supplies into Blanche’s room with open windows overlooking the gardens. Laughter floats up from the patio, where she’s entertaining her friends. I brace myself for hearing all kinds of slanderous shit about me.
She’s left the bathroom in absolute squalor. Towels scattered across the marble floors, makeup smeared on gold fixtures, empty champagne bottles lying like fallen bowling pins. I can’t tell if rich assholes live like pigs all the time or if she’s staged this mess for my benefit.
I start with the towels, cramming them into a basket. Then I pick up a pair of piss-stained panties with the toilet brush to dump on her pillow. That’s when I spot Blanche’s Louis Vuitton vanity case sitting on the bed, wide open without a single trace of cosmetics.
My hands freeze. I shouldn’t. But the bag sits there practically begging me to dig through her crap.
I creep toward the bed, my pulse trying to burst free from its cage. The bag is stuffed with rolls of cash, credit cards, and baggies of coke. But buried underneath, something catches my eye.
Lots of pills.
Prescription bottles with handwritten labels. I recognize Xanax, OxyContin, Adderall, and Ambien. And enough sedatives to knock out a horse. I pick up one bottle, squinting at a long chemical-sounding name when the hallway echoes with footsteps.
Shit.
I drop the bottles back into the bag and dive under the bed, just as the door creaks open. The space is narrow as a coffin and filled with dust. My heart thrashes like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest.
Heavy footsteps cross the hardwood floor, slow and deliberate, belonging to a man. I hold my breath, repeating the same mantra until one word blurs into the other:Don’t come closer. Don’t come closer. Don’t come closer.
Each step makes my vision tunnel until all I can see is the man’s shadow moving closer. I crane my neck to catch a glimpse in the full-length mirror across the room.
It’s Rochester.
No, no, no, no, no.
His polished shoes stop beside the bed, near enough that I could reach out and touch the leather. The mattress groans as he sits, springs squeaking under his weight. Every part of me wants to bolt, to run, to scream, but there’s nowhere to go. He’d drag me out by the ankle. Demand to know why I shut him out of my room.
I freeze in place, my breaths shallowing, but dust tickles my nose. A sneeze builds up in my sinuses, threatening to betray my hiding spot. Squeezing my nostrils between my fingertips, I bite down on my bottom lip until I taste blood, desperate to stop the urge.
The bed dips lower as he leans to the side and reaches for Blanche’s case. Every rustle of fabric grates on my nerves, and every clink of pill bottles rattles in my ears. My lungs scream for air, but I don’t dare exhale.
What the hell is he doing?
Through the mirror, I watch him picking up each pill bottle, studying the labels. He settles on one container,unscrewing the cap. The contents rattle as he empties them into a white handkerchief. Then he pulls a small plastic baggie from his pocket and pours a different set of pills into the vacant bottle.
Oh my God. Oh my God. He’s poisoning Blanche.
Blood roars in my ears. I want to scream at him to stop, to warn her, but I can’t even breathe. My vision goes gray at the edges and my eyes sting with tears.
He’s going to kill her. And if he discovers where I’m hiding, he’ll do the same to me.
The mattress shifts as he leans forward, and I squeeze my eyes shut, certain he’s about to peer under the bed. If he sees me, he’ll drag me out by the hair. Slit my throat. Bury my corpse in the woods. Every muscle in my body trembles so hard the bed frame might rattle and give me away.
He’ll kill me, he’ll kill me, he’ll kill me.
The springs creak again as he stands. I hear him brushing down his jacket, then arranging the case exactly as he found it. My vision blurs to black spots, and my lungs sear like I’m drowning.
