Humiliation

Zey

*

"You'll serve all the guests, "he crossed his arms." Every single one. "

I exhaled. "I'm your wife.. Why? My voice cracked, " Why would you degrade me like this?

He tilted his head, his eyes flared." You're my wife only in name and as a tool to me, you're nothing to me Zey. " He said through clenched teeth.

" And you'll go through every degrading treatment I put you through, " He said, turning his back." You have thirty minutes to prepare and get ready. "

Tears stung my eyes, he wouldn't stop punishing me, treating me like trash every single day. Married couples are supposed to care for and love each other. Instead, he married me to repay whatever unknown thing my family did to him. Now he was making me serve as a waitress in one of his big hotels. He doesn't care about me—about my honor. If anything, he seems to enjoy it when I cry. The more I break, the more he wins.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady the storm in my chest. "You can do this, I told myself. " Just serve everyone and get out. Don't give him the satisfaction.

I pulled my hair into a tight bun, forcing my hands to stop trembling. Then I reached for the brown apron and tied it around my waist.

Taking a deep breath, I moved toward the door. 

The hallway, buzzed with voices, laughter, and footsteps. The crowd was already waiting to be served. And there he was—in the far corner, dressed in black like a predator. Cold, Calculating. Watching.

I kept my head down and began moving between tables, carrying trays, taking orders, rushing from one demanding guest to another. The weight of the plates didn’t compare to the weight sitting on my chest. Being a waitress—his idea of punishment—was exhausting. But the guests made it unbearable.

“Get my order right next time.”

“Useless girl.”

“God, she’s so slow.”

Each word chipped at me, but I said nothing. I couldn’t. I didn’t trust my voice not to shake so I kept moving, serving, clearing.

“Who do you think you are, damn waitress?” one man snapped, his breath reeking of alcohol and arrogance.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t look at Adrian. I didn’t want to give him the pleasure of seeing me break. 

I straightened my shoulders. I had to get this over with.

I walked to the table, carrying the tray with careful hands. A group of men sat there, loud, smug, entitled.

“Here’s your order,” I said quietly, placing the dishes in front of them.

One of them—broad-shouldered, arrogant—glanced at the tray, then at me. Without warning, he picked up the cappuccino and flung its contents at me.

Hot liquid splashed across my chest.

I froze.

The sting wasn’t just from the heat—it was from the laughter that erupted around the table. It crawled up my spine like poison. My hands trembled at my sides, helpless.

But worse than the sting… worse than the laughter… was the silence.

His silence.

He sat still in the corner, his black suit immaculate, his eyes fixed on me, unreadable. Unmoving. As if this wasn’t his doing.

As if I was invisible.

“I need another cappuccino,” the man sneered, snapping me out of the trance.

The humiliation clung to me like smoke as I turned and walked away. My vision blurred. I couldn’t hold the tears anymore. They spilled, quiet and hot.

Maybe now he was satisfied.

.....

FEW HOURS LATER.

I  was the only one left.

He’d dismissed everyone else—specifically—just so I’d be the only one left in charge of the arduous task ahead.

My back ached. My legs were jelly. My head throbbed as though it carried the weight of the entire world.

I was exhausted. Bone-deep. Soul-deep.

Trapped.

This was no marriage. This was a slow, calculated punishment.

Six months. Six months of being tied to a man who looked like a dream but moved like a storm—Adrian, the wrecking ball that shattered my quiet world.

And for what? I still didn’t know.

Every day, he found a new way to break me. Every day, I tried not to fall apart.

I wandered the now-empty hall, my feet dragging as I cleaned every table, every chair, every glass.

From 8:45 p.m. to 11:30. Just me, the silence, and the echoes of their cruelty.

By the time I walked into our suite, I could barely stand.

No sign of Adrian. I exhaled, shoulders sagging with relief. I didn’t want to see him. Not like this. Not when I was too drained to pretend I still had a spine.

I peeled off my clothes, showered, and slipped into my nightwear.

Then—a knock.

My heart leapt to my throat.

Is he back?

The monster?  

Back to continue what he started?

I opened the door slowly.

“Ma’am.” It was one of the waitresses, Zia. Her voice trembled. “Sir Adrian asked us to resume and check on all the guests tonight. Is there anything you need?”

I swallowed. “Just hot soup, thank you.”

She hesitated, eyes scanning my face. “Ma’am, why… why did he put only you in charge of serving everyone in the hall? That was too much work—for three people, not one.”

I saw the pity flicker in her eyes.

I forced a small, practiced smile. “It was nothing, Zia. Thank you for your concern.”

She didn’t believe me. But she nodded and left.

I shut the door quietly behind her.

Then leaned my back against it, breathing slowly, clutching onto the last fragments of my pride.

"I'm fine," I whispered.

Lies.

"I'm going to get your soup, ma'am," she said softly, already turning to leave.

I hesitated. “And… I’ll need some painkillers too.”

My voice was barely a whisper. But she heard the weariness behind it.

I didn’t need to explain. The look in her eyes said she understood more than I could admit.

As the door closed behind her, I collapsed onto the couch. My whole body throbbed—shoulders, feet, ribs. Every breath reminded me of the day I’d just survived.