Chapter 3

The years that followed were a masterclass in controlled torment for Chloe.

Mrs. Davies, loyal to my grandmother and with an almost gleeful dedication to her task, made Chloe's life a living hell.

Chloe' s days started before dawn.

She had to prepare my clothes, ensure my breakfast preferences were relayed perfectly to the chef, and attend to my every childish whim.

She had no personal time. No friends. No outside contact beyond carefully monitored calls with her own mother, calls that Mrs. Davies often "supervised."

She was, in essence, a prisoner in a gilded cage, a servant with a marriage certificate that meant nothing.

Sometimes, usually when she thought my father might be nearby or when she hoped to appeal to my childish sympathy, Chloe would try to show me "bruises."

"Ava, darling," she'd whisper, her eyes welling up with tears, pulling up a sleeve to show a faint mark on her arm. "Look what Mrs. Davies did. She' s so mean to me."

The bruises were often self-inflicted, or tiny marks exaggerated by her dramatic storytelling.

In my first life, I might have believed her. I might have felt pity.

But this Ava knew better.

I would look at the mark with wide, innocent eyes.

"Oh, Chloe," I'd say, my voice full of childish concern. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes, terribly," she' d sniffle.

"We should tell Daddy!" I'd exclaim. "Or Mr. Peterson! They'll stop her!"

This was not the reaction Chloe wanted. An actual investigation would expose her.

"Oh, no, no, sweetie," she' d say quickly. "We don't want to cause trouble. I'll be alright. As long as I have you."

She' d try to hug me, but I' d subtly pull away.

I was now a pre-teen, around ten or eleven. Old enough to understand, young enough to still feign complete innocence.

One afternoon, I decided it was time to escalate Chloe' s discomfort.

I found Mr. Peterson in the study, organizing my father' s papers. Mrs. Davies was conferring with him.

Perfect.

"Mr. Peterson? Mrs. Davies?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

They both looked at me, their expressions softening.

"Yes, Miss Ava?" Mr. Peterson said.

"Chloe told me... she told me you're both very mean to her," I said, looking down at my shoes as if I were about to cry. "She said Mrs. Davies pinches her and Mr. Peterson yells at her. She showed me bruises."

Chloe, who had followed me, hoping to witness my defense of her, paled. This was not going according to her plan.

She rushed forward. "Ava, darling, I didn't mean... It was just girl talk..."

"Is it true, Chloe?" I asked, turning to her, my eyes wide with feigned disappointment. "Do they hurt you?"

Chloe, cornered, burst into tears. "Yes! Yes, they do! They' re horrible to me! I try so hard, and they just bully me!" she wailed, pointing a shaking finger at the two stoic staff members.

Mr. Peterson and Mrs. Davies exchanged a look. They knew Chloe was lying. They also knew I was setting her up.

Before they could speak, I played my next card.

"But... but some of the other maids... they told me... they told me you used to be mean to them, Chloe."

My voice was soft, laced with confusion.

"They said... in the first few weeks you were here, before Grandma came... you threw hot coffee on Lily because it wasn't sweet enough. And you made Sarah kneel on the marble floor for an hour because she folded your laundry wrong."

These were incidents I vaguely remembered from my past life, whispers among the staff that I hadn' t understood then. Now, they were useful.

Chloe' s face went from pale to ghostly white.

"That's... that's a lie! They' re lying!" she shrieked.