Chapter 3

Aliana took a long, hot shower, trying to wash away the filth of the day, the grime of five years of humiliation. When she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, she found her closet empty.

Her cheap dresses, her worn-out jeans, her simple t-shirts – all gone.

She knew instantly what had happened. She walked out of her room and down to the back of the house. There, next to the garbage cans, was a pile of her clothes, tossed out like trash.

This was one of Cecil's favorite punishments. Whenever Aliana did something to displease her, she would find her belongings in the garbage. It was a reminder of her place, a message that she and her things were disposable.

This time, however, Aliana just looked at the pile and felt a strange sense of relief.

Good, she thought. Saves me the trouble of packing.

She went back to her room, exhausted, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, she woke up and had to put on the same simple dress from the day before. It was the only thing she had left.

She went downstairs for breakfast. Cecil was at the table, sipping her tea, a smug look on her face.

"Oh, look," Cecil sneered, eyeing Aliana's dress. "Still wearing yesterday's clothes? I suppose that's all you can afford. Some people have no shame."

Damien was there too, looking impatient. "Aliana, get my briefcase. And my tie, the blue one. I have an early meeting."

In the past, she would have hurried to obey, a silent, efficient servant. She would have fetched his things, straightened his tie, and handed him his briefcase with a hopeful smile.

This time, she walked past him without a word and poured herself a glass of water.

He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Did you not hear me?"

Aliana took a slow sip of water, then turned to face him. Her eyes were cold and clear.

"Get it yourself," she said.

The entire room fell silent. Cecil's jaw dropped. Damien looked as if she had slapped him.

"What did you just say to me?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

"I said, get it yourself," Aliana repeated, her voice even and calm. "I am not your servant. And as of today, I am no longer a resident of this house. I'm leaving."

She placed her glass on the counter and walked towards the door, ignoring their stunned faces.

Her destination was the small staff quarters at the back of the estate, where her father lived. His room was simple but clean. He was sitting in a chair by the window, looking pale.

The cheap heels she was still wearing pinched her feet with every step, a sharp, stabbing pain that shot up her leg. She winced, the physical pain a dull echo of the agony in her heart.

Damien's words from yesterday rang in her ears: "Don't you dare try to guilt me with that."

All her sacrifices, all her love, reduced to a mere guilt trip.

When she reached her father's room, the sight of his frail form was the final crack in her composure. The tears she had been holding back finally broke free.

She ran to him, burying her face in his lap, and sobbed.

"Dad... I'm sorry," she cried, her body shaking. "I'm so, so sorry."

Mr. Rodriguez, a kind man with a weak heart, stroked her hair gently. "It's okay, Lia. It's not your fault. You should have left a long time ago."

"We're leaving, Dad," she said, looking up at him, her face streaked with tears. "We're leaving today. Together."

"Good," he said, a sad smile on his face. "That's my girl."

She made the decision right then and there. She would never set foot in the Crawford mansion again.

After composing herself, she went to say goodbye to the other staff, the few people who had shown her kindness. As she was walking back through the main house, Cecil blocked her path.

"Where do you think you're going?" Cecil shrieked, her face contorted with rage. "You ungrateful brat! After all we've done for you!"

Aliana ignored her and tried to walk past.

Cecil, in a fit of fury, shoved her hard.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!"

Aliana stumbled, her body weak from exhaustion and emotional turmoil. The shove sent her sprawling onto the marble floor.

As she fell, the back of her dress hitched up, exposing her skin.

A collective gasp went through the room. Hadley, who had been watching from the sidelines, let out a piercing scream.

Running down Aliana's back, from her shoulder blade to her waist, was a long, jagged, ugly scar. It was the scar from the skin graft she had secretly undergone to help heal the burns on Damien's back after the accident, a donation he never knew about.

Hadley pointed a trembling finger. "What is that? It's hideous!"

Damien, who had followed the commotion, stared at the scar. His first, instinctive reaction was disgust. He recoiled, taking a step back, his face a mask of revulsion.

He pulled Hadley behind him, shielding her as if Aliana was some kind of monster.

Aliana fell to the floor, the cold marble shocking her skin. Her first instinct was to pull her dress down, to hide the scar, to hide her shame.

Cecil's cruel voice cut through the air. "Disgusting! To have such a hideous thing on your body. No wonder you can't find a man. You're damaged goods."

Aliana froze. She stopped trying to cover herself. She slowly lifted her head and looked at Damien.

She watched him shield Hadley, saw the undisguised revulsion in his eyes. This was the man she had saved, the man she had sacrificed her body and her future for.

Her voice trembled as she asked, "You think it's disgusting too, Damien?"

He didn't answer. He just held Hadley tighter, his silence a confirmation louder than any words.

"Get her away from me," he muttered, his eyes fixed on Hadley's pale face. "She's scaring Hadley."

A sound, like breaking glass, echoed in the silent room. It was Aliana's laughter. It started as a low chuckle and grew into a wild, desperate sound that was more sob than laugh.

Five years. Five years of devotion, of sacrifice, of love. And it all came down to this. He looked at her, at the proof of her sacrifice etched onto her skin, and all he felt was disgust.

"Get out!" Cecil screamed, pointing to the door. "Get your disgusting body out of my house!"

Keith Herman, a young security guard who was loyal to Aliana's father, stepped forward. "Mrs. Crawford, that scar is because..."

"Keith, stop," Aliana said, her voice suddenly calm. The laughter had died, leaving behind an unnerving stillness.

Damien's eyes narrowed, seeing her talking to another man. "What are you two whispering about? Keith, you're fired! Get out!"

He strode over to Aliana, grabbing her arm and yanking her to her feet.

"You've been playing games with me all this time, haven't you?" he spat, his face close to hers. "Is this your new trick? Gaining sympathy with some old scar?"

He dragged her towards her small room at the back of the house, his grip like iron. The last shred of her love for him turned to dust.