“What the fuck are you doing with my underwear?”
“You think men find udders like this attractive?” she says without turning around.
My mouth opens but nothing comes out. It’s absurd to feel so small with a killer downstairs. She has no idea she’s one pill away from death, yet she’s in my room playing games with my bra.
“Better than bee stings,” I say.
“Edward told me everything,” she says, her voice cold.
A sharp breath whistles through my teeth. She has to be bluffing. Rochester isn’t stupid. He wouldn’t jeopardizehis golden goose so close to getting his murderous hands on her fortune.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I snap.
She turns around, her painted lips twisting with distaste. “Anyone can get implants. Even a maid with delusions. But a man like Edward could only ever see you as a receptacle for his cum.”
My nostrils flare. I still don’t know if she’s fishing for a confession, but I want to smack that smirk off her face.
“Put that down.” My voice sounds weak even to me.
Blanche flashes her teeth. She takes a step closer. My bra swings between her manicured fingers like a noose. “No denial? No protestations of innocence? You really are a pathetic whore.”
“And you’re insecure,” I say.
“Observant.”
“I told you to put my bra the fuck down.” My voice cracks.
She waves it like a flag of triumph. “You know, someone who gets on their knees for a paycheck ought to?—”
“At least Rochester wants me,” I hiss, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. As soon as I say it, my blood runs cold.
I can’t stop. The rest gushes out with venom. “While you’re whining for his cock, he comes to my room every night, begging harder than a starving dog. When I won’t let him in, he sobs for me like an orphan.”
Her eyes widen. The smile melts off her face, and she suddenly looks young. Fragile. Breakable.
“You’re lying,” she whispers, her breath catching.
My hands flex. I could shake her. Snap her neck. Part of me wants to grab her shoulders and scream the truth, toyell at her to check her pills and run, but I’m overcome with righteous malice.
I meet those dark eyes. Eyes that glare at me with scorn. Eyes that roamed over my body like it was inferior and hiss, “Ask your precious Edward who he thinks of when he comes.”
“Edward loves me.”
She steps back, still holding onto my bra. Now, she’s pressing it to her chest like a shield. She truly believes in her beloved Mr. Rochester. I almost pity her.
My jaw clenches. Guilt gnaws at my conscience. If I don’t warn her, she’ll die, and that will make me an accomplice. But if I do, then I’m marking myself for death.
Something flickers in her gaze. It could be uncertainty. Maybe even doubt. But she stamps it out fast, her mouth twisting with spite. Her eyes narrow, the way people’s do when they mistake indecision for weakness.
“Once Edward and I are married, he’ll have a wife,” she says with a sly smirk. “And no more use for a hired hole.”
My vision clouds with red. Lurching forward, I reach for my bra, but she dodges.
“Don’t be stupid,” I snap. “You think it’s love because he signed that prenup? He’s found another way to take your fortune.”
She flashes her teeth, about to say something cutting, then she widens her eyes. “I know where I’ve seen you before.”
Every ounce of blood drains from my face and gathers in my pounding heart. If she recognizes me from Beaumont City, I’m finished.
