Chapter 3

Brittany' s manufactured cry was perfectly timed. The bathroom door swung open and Ethan stormed in, his face a thunderous mask of fury. His eyes went from Brittany, who was clutching her arm and looking tearfully at him, to me, still crumpled on the floor.

He didn't ask what happened. He just assumed.

"What the hell did you do?" he snarled at me.

Two of his security guards followed him in. They grabbed my arms, hauling me to my feet. The movement sent a jolt of agony through my broken leg, and I cried out.

"I didn't touch her," I gasped, trying to explain. "She's lying."

Ethan let out a short, humorless laugh. He walked over to Brittany and gently took her arm, inspecting it like she was a priceless artifact. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine," she whispered, leaning into him. "I was just trying to see if Chloe was alright. She looked so sick. But she just... lashed out."

"There are cameras in the hallway," I said, my voice desperate. "You can check them. They'll show she's lying."

Ethan's gaze turned to ice. "Are you calling her a liar? After everything you've put her through tonight, you have the audacity to make accusations?"

He didn't care about the truth. He only cared about his narrative. And in his story, I was the villain.

"Apologize to her," he commanded.

"What?"

"Apologize. To Brittany. Now." He took a step closer, his voice low and menacing. "Or you and I are done. For good. No more chances."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My mission. My mother. I couldn't fail.

"Do you even trust me at all?" I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

"Trust is earned," he said coldly. "And you've done nothing to earn mine."

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. I was trapped. I looked at Brittany, who was watching me with a smug, victorious expression.

"I'm sorry," I choked out.

Ethan wasn't satisfied. "That's not good enough. You hurt her. You need to show you're truly sorry." His eyes scanned the room, then landed on the floor. A cruel smile touched his lips. "How do I make you understand, Chloe?"

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, my voice hollow.

"Get on your knees," he said.

The words hit me like a physical blow. The security guards tightened their grip on my arms.

"Ethan, don't," Brittany said, her voice full of fake concern. "That's too much." It was a lie. She was loving every second of this.

"She needs to learn a lesson," Ethan insisted, his eyes locked on mine. "On your knees, Chloe."

My legs gave out. The guards let me go, and I landed hard on the cold marble floor. The impact on my broken leg sent a white-hot flash of pain through me, and I bit my lip to keep from screaming. The sound of my knees hitting the ground was a dull, heavy thud.

Brittany walked over and stood in front of me, looking down with unconcealed glee.

Ethan watched, his expression unreadable. He wasn't done.

"Now," he said softly. "Slap yourself. Until Brittany says you can stop."

This was a new level of cruelty. He wanted me to inflict pain on myself for his entertainment.

For a moment, I considered refusing. I considered telling him to go to hell.

But then I thought of my mother. I thought of her smile.

I closed my eyes. My mind went blank. I became a machine, following an order.

I raised my hand and brought it down hard against my own cheek. The sound echoed in the small bathroom. Once. Twice. Three times. I didn't stop. My cheek stung, then went numb. I was just a body, going through the motions.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ethan gave a slight nod to Brittany.

"That's enough," she said, her voice laced with satisfaction.

They turned and left, leaving me on the floor, my face throbbing, my leg on fire, and my soul completely shattered.

I stayed there for a long time, the silence of the bathroom a welcome relief.

A faint, mechanical voice sounded in my head.

[Host, your emotional state is dangerously unstable. Do you wish to terminate the mission?]

It was the system.

I leaned my head back against the cool wall, the tears finally stopping.

"Yes," I thought, the word a silent scream in my mind. "I want to quit. I can't do this anymore."

[Termination request received. Please confirm.]

This was it. The end. I could be free.

But my mother...

[Confirmation pending,] the system said, its tone flat and impassive.

What would happen to her if I quit? Would the deal be void? Would she...

I couldn't finish the thought.

The pain of my failure was a thousand times worse than any humiliation Ethan could dream up.

"No," I whispered to the empty room. "Cancel termination. I'll finish the task."

I had to.