Chapter 2

Wendy's POV

Deep autumn in Milan was the kind of cold that made you want to give up.

Stella stayed in a penthouse apartment Lucas had arranged. All floor-to-ceiling windows, the whole glittering city spread out below her.

I stayed in a storage room barely big enough for a single cot. No window.

Being her "assistant" meant a lot more than making coffee.

Three in the morning, and Stella wanted a specific dessert from a bakery on the south side of the city. I'd pull on my coat and fight the wind across half of Milan to get it.

On set, if her coffee wasn't hot enough, she'd pour it directly onto the back of my hand. Blisters would rise. I'd apologize and smile.

Even her laundry. I hand-washed her lingerie, dried it, pressed it. One wrinkle, and she'd tear into me in front of everyone.

"Wendy, why are you making that face?"

Stella lounged on the sofa, swirling a glass of red wine, looking at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

"Don't think I don't know what's going on in that head of yours. You think Lucas sent you here because he trusts you?" She laughed. "Don't kid yourself."

She took a slow sip.

"He sent you here to be my punching bag. Someone has to be, and girls like you are made for it."

I kept my head down and quietly swept up the broken pieces on the floor.

The burn on my hand still throbbed. I didn't make a sound.

Three months. Just endure three months. As long as Lily gets her medicine, this is worth it.

But Stella's cruelty didn't stop there.

On the night of the fashion week closing gala, Stella made sure I was dressed as plainly as possible, bordering on frumpy, and positioned me one step behind her like a bag carrier.

In the middle of the party, a heavyset Italian businessman in an expensive suit sidled up with a drink, his eyes crawling over me.

"Miss Renee, and who is this?"

Stella smiled behind her hand.

"Oh, this is my assistant. She used to be Lucas's... personal companion." She tilted her head at him. "Interested, Mr. Rossi?"

The man's eyes lit up. He reached out to put his arm around my waist.

"A woman of Lucas Hartwell's? She must be something."

I stepped back and hit the champagne tower behind me.

The whole thing came down. Glass and champagne everywhere. A shard caught my leg.

Gasps. Laughter.

I sat on the floor, looked up at Stella.

She was smiling. Thrilled. Vicious.

"Oh, how clumsy." She pressed her fingertips to her lips in mock concern. "Mr. Rossi, it seems she's in no shape to be good company tonight. Perhaps she should go up to your room and make it up to you?"

In that moment, every drop of blood in my body went cold.

I clawed my way up off the floor, shoved past the man reaching down to help me, and ran out of the ballroom.

The cold air rushed into my collar, mixing with the sticky sweetness of spilled champagne. My stomach heaved.

Back at the apartment, my hands shaking, I called Lucas.

I wanted to tell him what Stella had done. I wanted to beg him to let me come home. Even if it meant giving up the money - even if it meant anything - I had to get out of this place.

The phone rang for a long time before he picked up.

"Lucas."

I was already crying.

"Make it quick. I'm in a meeting."

His voice was flat. Impatient.

"Stella, she tried to... she was going to send me to some man's room. Please, let me come home. Please."

A beat of silence. Then a short, dismissive laugh.

"Really, Wendy. Is this still your game?"

I froze.

"What?"

"Stella texted me. Said you got drunk at the gala, made a scene, and broke something expensive."

His voice was full of contempt.

"And now you're calling to make up stories about her? Can you not let your jealousy run your mouth for five minutes?"

"That's not what happened-"

"Enough."

His voice cracked like a whip.

"You made a mistake. Stay there and think about what you did. If Stella doesn't forgive you, you can figure out Lily's medication yourself."

The call ended.

I had no right to defend myself. Not in his world.

Whatever I suffered, it would always be because I was jealous.