Chapter 4 The View from Hell

Beverly's hands shot out instinctively, her palms slamming against the car's frame as her body pitched forward. For one heart-stopping moment, she teetered on the edge of complete humiliation, her face inches from the unforgiving asphalt. The world tilted sideways, gravity pulling her toward what would have been the most devastating fall of her life not just physically, but emotionally.

But somehow miraculously she managed to catch herself. Her arms trembled with the effort of pulling herself upright, muscles screaming from the sudden strain. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a caged bird desperate for freedom, adrenaline flooding her system as she realized how close she'd come to giving Faye exactly what she wanted.

Behind her, she heard Faye's disappointed tsk, the sound sharp and irritated, as if Beverly's ability to save herself from falling was somehow a personal insult to her carefully orchestrated cruelty.

Beverly straightened slowly, every movement deliberate and controlled despite the tremor in her hands. Her dignity hung by the thinnest of threads, frayed and barely holding, but she refused to let it snap completely. She didn't look back at either of them as she walked quickly toward the restaurant, her steps measured and purposeful despite the chaos raging inside her chest.

Behind her, the sharp hiss of disinfectant spray cut through the air like a blade.

"Can never be too careful," Faye's voice carried across the parking lot with theatrical disgust, each word dripping with manufactured revulsion. "You never know what you might catch from these... people."

The sound of more spraying followed, deliberate and excessive. Beverly could picture it without turning around Faye dramatically sanitizing the car door handle, the seat, anywhere Beverly's skin might have made contact, as if her very existence was contaminated.

"I mean, you never know what diseases these mute people carry around," Faye continued, her voice rising to ensure every poisonous word reached Beverly's ears. "It's probably genetic, you know? All that... defectiveness. Has to come from somewhere deep in their bloodline."

Beverly's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging crescents into her palms, but she kept walking. One foot in front of the other. Don't turn around. Don't give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply the words cut.

But Beverly was already pushing through the restaurant doors, the glass cool against her flushed skin, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing her break. The familiar chime of the entrance bell felt like a small victory, a declaration that she had survived another assault on her humanity.

The moment she stepped inside, Beverly felt like she could finally breathe again. The familiar sounds of clinking dishes and bustling servers wrapped around her like a protective cocoon, drowning out the poison still echoing in her ears. Here, surrounded by the honest work of people who didn't know her story, she wasn't the Carter family's unwanted burden. Here, she was just Beverly a hardworking waitress who happened to be mute.

She hurried to the employee break room, her footsteps quick and silent on the worn linoleum. The small space smelled of coffee and industrial detergent, comforting in its mundane normalcy. Beverly changed into her uniform with practiced efficiency, her fingers working the buttons and ties with muscle memory born of routine. The simple black dress and white apron felt like armor, transforming her from victim to survivor, from broken wife to capable woman. For a few precious hours, she could pretend her life was normal.

Outside in the car, Faye slipped into the passenger seat with feline grace, her body already gravitating toward Diro like a magnet drawn to steel. The leather seat creaked softly under her weight as she positioned herself strategically, her red dress riding up to reveal more thigh than strictly necessary.

"God, I've missed your touch," she purred, her voice husky with manufactured desire as her perfectly manicured fingers found the buttons of his shirt. She pressed herself against him, her body molding to his side like she belonged there, like she was claiming territory that had always been hers.

Her lips found the pulse point on his neck, her tongue darting out to taste his skin. Diro's breath hitched as she worked her way up to his ear, her teeth grazing the sensitive lobe before she whispered her next words like a prayer and a demand rolled into one.

"I can't wait to finally have you all to myself," she breathed against his skin, her hand sliding down his chest with deliberate slowness. "The thought of sharing you with that mute thing makes me want to vomit. You're mine, Diro. You've always been mine."

Her fingers found his belt buckle, toying with the metal as she shifted in her seat to face him more fully. The afternoon sun streaming through the windshield caught the highlights in her hair, making her look like some sort of avenging angel beautiful and terrible in equal measure.

"When are you getting the divorce, baby?" Her voice turned seductive, honeyed with promise and sharp with demand. "I'm so tired of hiding in the shadows while she parades around pretending to be your wife. We both know I'm the real woman in your life."

"You know my situation," Diro replied, his voice strained as her hand continued its torturous exploration of his body.

"Speaking of situations," Faye's voice turned sharp, calculating, her business mind never fully switching off even in moments of passion. "When am I getting that G-Wagon you promised me three months ago? Or are you just a billionaire in mouth who can't fulfill his own promises?"

Her hand moved lower, bold and possessive, as her voice dropped to a throaty whisper that carried the weight of intimate knowledge.

"Don't tell me you only make promises when you're buried deep in my honey pot, riding me like a wild horse until I scream your name."

Her fingers found what they were seeking, and Diro's sharp intake of breath filled the confined space of the car. She smiled against his neck, satisfied with his reaction, her power over him evident in every tremor that ran through his body.

"Stop, Faye," Diro's voice was breathless, barely controlled as her touch threatened to undo his composure completely. "You'll have the keys tomorrow. Are we good now?"

Faye's squeal of excitement was pure and genuine, the sound of a woman getting exactly what she wanted. She pulled him into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperate hunger, her body pressing against his like she wanted to crawl inside his skin and make herself at home there.

Inside the restaurant, Beverly emerged from the break room, her transformation complete. The uniform had worked its magic, turning her from a broken victim into a capable professional. She moved through the dining room with quiet efficiency, checking table settings and preparing for the evening rush.

"Beverly!" Vanya's cheerful voice cut through the ambient noise like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. Her friend appeared at her side with a bright smile and her ever-present phone, already angled for the perfect shot.

"You look absolutely stunning today," Vanya gushed, her camera clicking rapidly as she captured Beverly's face from different angles. "Seriously, you could be a model. Those cheekbones, those eyes you're wasted on waiting tables. I'm posting this on my Instagram right now. My followers are going to die when they see how gorgeous you are."

Beverly managed a genuine smile this time, the first real one she'd worn all day. Vanya's friendship was one of the few bright spots in her dark world, a reminder that not everyone saw her as broken or defective. In Vanya's eyes, she was beautiful, valuable, worthy of admiration and respect.

But as she moved to take her first table order of the shift, Beverly's gaze drifted automatically toward the large window that faced the parking lot a habit she'd developed over months of working here, always watching for Diro's return, always bracing herself for whatever mood he might be in.

What she saw there made her stomach lurch violently, bile rising in her throat so fast she barely had time to press her hand to her mouth. The world tilted on its axis, her vision blurring as her brain struggled to process the scene unfolding before her eyes.

"Beverly?" Vanya's voice seemed to come from very far away, as if she were speaking through water. "Beverly, what is it? You look like you're going to be sick."

Following her friend's horrified gaze, Vanya moved closer to the window. When she saw what had made Beverly turn green, her face twisted with fury and disgust, her protective instincts flaring to life like a match struck in darkness.

"Oh, hell no," Vanya snarled, immediately grabbing Beverly's arm with gentle but firm fingers. "We're leaving. Right now. You don't need to see this."

"No," Beverly signed frantically, trying to pull away even as her body continued to shake with revulsion. "I'm used to it. I'm fine. It just... sometimes it breaks me, seeing..."

But Vanya was already dragging her toward the back exit, her protective instincts in full force, her face set in lines of determined fury.

"You are not 'used to' that," Vanya hissed, her eyes blazing with righteous anger. "No woman should ever have to be 'used to'"

The words hung in the air between them, unfinished but loaded with implications that made Beverly's heart pound with dread and desperate hope in equal measure.