Chapter 2

ANGEL

It was only six in the morning, and I was already awake to start the chores.

The bathroom floor was cold against my knees as I scrubbed the tiles with a brush. My hands burned, red and rough from soap and water, but I kept going. The strong scent of bleach stung my nose, and my eyes watered as I leaned closer to the floor. I wiped my face with the back of my forearm and continued, careful not to leave even a single corner untouched.

From the moment I married my husband, my once-perfect life started to fall apart.

My parents-in-law, the only people who treated me kindly, were almost always abroad. My husband left early for work and came home at night, so we barely saw each other. During the day, his siblings ruled the house, making sure I never forgot my place. Every command was a reminder that I did not belong there.

Even so, I never complained. They were my husband’s family, and now they were mine as well.

While I rinsed the tiles, voices drifted in from outside the bathroom. I froze when I realized they were talking about me.

“I feel sorry for her,” one of the maids said, her voice low but still loud enough for me to hear.

“Sorry?” someone scoffed. “She brings it on herself. She lets them treat her that way. If I were her, I’d rather divorce my husband than endure everything.”

“She loves Sir.”

“That’s the problem; too bad her husband doesn’t love her. You know he loves Madam Amanda.”

I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on the pail. I kept my head down, pretending I heard nothing, though every word lodged itself deep in my chest.

When I was done, I stood slowly, my knees throbbing as I straightened up. After washing my hands, I returned to my room and changed into a new set of clothes. I stared at my reflection for a long moment, barely recognizing the woman looking back.

The healthy glow my skin once had was gone, replaced by bruises and pale marks that refused to fade. Scratches lined my arms, some already healing while others were still fresh. My face had hollowed, and my eyes sank, the light in them dulled by exhaustion and silent despair.

In the kitchen, even though my body felt like it might give out from exhaustion, I still forced myself to prepare breakfast for my in-laws.

“Breakfast is ready,” I announced as I placed the food on the table.

They sat down without even sparing me a glance. George, the troublemaker among them, lounged in his chair with a lazy grin, while Zenaida examined the food.

Zenaida is Amanda’s best friend, and from the beginning, she made it clear that she wanted her best friend to be with Gideon. Being his wife only gave her another reason to hate me.

Despite everything they had put me through, I continued to deal with them with grace.

“Too salty,” George remarked, shoving the plate away.

“And why is this burnt?” Zenaida added. “You’ve been cooking for years, and yet you still don’t know how to cook properly?!” she snapped.

“But it’s cooked just fine,” I said softly.

I glanced at the food once more. It wasn’t burnt; it was cooked just right. I tasted it while cooking, so I knew the seasoning was fine.

“And you have the audacity to talk back?” she fumed. “Are you calling me a liar?”

My chest tightened instantly. Fear crawled up my spine. Whenever they were displeased, they always made sure I paid for it.

“No,” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I will fix it—”

“No,” Zenaida cut in sharply.

She stood and grabbed the plate. I gasped as she poured the food over me, watching it splatter down my clothes and arms before hitting the floor. They laughed together.

“Eat it,” Zenaida ordered.

I looked up at her in disbelief. “Pardon?”

My gaze dropped to the food scattered across the floor. I swallowed hard, my head shaking faintly.

“It’s dirty,” I whispered. “I’ll clean the mess. I’ll cook again if you want me to.”

The smile on Zenaida’s face disappeared.

“Didn’t you hear me?!” she snapped. “I said, eat it!”

I shook my head, but it only enraged her further.

The next thing I knew, she had a fistful of my hair. A gasp tore from my lips as she yanked my head down. My knees slammed against the floor, pain shooting through my legs. She tightened her grip, forcing my face closer to the mess. I could hear George’s laughter from his seat, clearly enjoying every second of it.

“So dramatic,” Zenaida sneered. “You’ll eat it, or you won’t eat for the whole week. Choose.”

“Zenaida, please…” I begged, my voice breaking.

Tears blurred my vision as I tried to pull away, but she was stronger.

George laughed. “You’re so weak. Go on. Just eat it.”

Zenaida leaned closer, her fingers digging painfully into my scalp. “If you don’t eat that, I’ll tell my brother you’re wasting food. You know he won’t like that, right?”

Slowly, my trembling hand reached for the food on the floor. My fingers shook as I picked up a small portion. My stomach churned in protest, but I forced it to my mouth. I bit down. Tears fell freely now, splashing onto the tiles beneath me.

A satisfied smile spread across their faces when I glanced up. Zenaida finally released my hair and straightened.

“See?” she murmured smugly. “You just needed a little push.”

They laughed together, even clapping their hands in triumph.

“Come here, all of you,” Zenaida ordered the other maids. “Make sure she finishes everything on the floor. Tell me if she doesn’t.” She pointed at me as if I were nothing more than dirt.

The maids nodded. Once the two of them were gone, my body finally gave in. I remained on the floor, eating what was scattered there while the maids watched me, their eyes filled with pity.

That night, as always, I waited for my husband to come home.

My eyes lit up the moment I saw him step out of the car. I straightened myself, ready to say hello, but he brushed past me as if I were invisible. I hurried after him.

“I cooked for you,” I said as I caught up to him. “Let’s eat together.”

He kept walking, not looking at me or slowing his pace.

“I waited for you so we could eat together. I’ll prepare the food while you change,” I added quickly. “Just come down after you—”

“No,” he cut me off, his voice cold. “I’m full. I already ate.”

“Oh,” I murmured, then slowly nodded. “With your friends, right?” I asked, clinging to the small hope that maybe, just maybe, the answer would soften the blow.

“No. With Amanda.”

My shoulders sagged and my chest tightened. Still, I forced a smile onto my lips.

“That’s fine. I’ll just eat alone tonight. I’ll cook for you again tomorrow—”

Without waiting for me to finish, he walked straight up to his room, leaving me standing alone by the stairs.

I knew he was doing this on purpose. He wanted to wear me down until I finally gave up. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

I was being selfish; I knew. I was also well aware that I was the only one holding on in this marriage. Yet I would rather bear that than let him go and be with another. Even if it trapped me in a loveless marriage, I would stay.