Chapter 4

Anya POV

Jacob didn't even stoop. He simply raised his foot and stepped on the divorce papers.

"Anya. So you've learned to hit people. And you've also learned to play the victim."

He scoffed.

I opened my mouth to speak when the housekeeper emerged from a corner of the wreckage, holding a dark red wooden box-my mother's last belongings.

"Open it," Jacob said, his tone utterly flat. "And throw everything inside away."

"No!"

I tried to rush over, but he grabbed my right hand and roughly shoved me back.

The intense pain in my right arm made my vision blur.

Jacob pointed to ten moving boxes that had just been unloaded outside the door.

"Since you have the energy to hit people and refuse to apologize, you have the energy to work. Go move all of Celeste's luggage to the master bedroom on the second floor. If you miss one box, I'll burn one of your mother's manuscripts."

I looked up at him in disbelief.

"Don't you know my hand is broken... How do you expect me to move them?"

"Can't your left hand still slap people?" Jacob said coldly.

"Use your left hand to move them."

I looked at my mother's belongings and finally nodded.

"Fine. I'll move them."

From the first floor to the second, twenty-four steps.

I dragged the first heavy box with my left hand, bracing it with my body, stumbling upward step by step.

With each step, a searing pain shot through my right arm.

Sweat drenched my back, dripping onto the marble floor.

Five feet away on the sofa, Jacob and Celeste sat comfortably. A tea table held red tea and pastries.

"Jacob..."

Celeste frowned, glancing at the stairs.

"Maybe let it go? She is injured, after all. It wouldn't look good for the Thorne family. Just let the workers move them."

Jacob didn't move.

"Since she won't apologize, she can move the luggage as atonement. Don't mind her."

"But that box contains my couture gowns and crystal heels," Celeste said, raising her voice sweetly, clearly for me to hear.

"Be extra careful, okay? Those shoes were specially ordered by Jacob from Italy. I'd be very upset if they got damaged."

My footsteps faltered.

I, too, once had a pair of crystal heels Jacob had given me-he'd casually thrown them at me on our wedding day, telling me to "just make do." Turns out they were just Celeste's unwanted defective items.

Fourth box, fifth box... My left hand became numb, my legs felt like lead.

Until the bandage was soiled and stained with blood.

By the eighth box, I was exhausted, and the box slammed heavily against the edge of a step.

"Oh!"

Celeste shrieked dramatically from downstairs.

"My piano scores! Were you doing that on purpose?"

Jacob's face darkened, and his teacup clattered heavily on the table.

"Anya! Do you still want your mother's manuscripts or not?"

I frantically clutched the box.

"I didn't... It wasn't on purpose..."

Finally, all ten boxes were moved into the master bedroom.

I collapsed, utterly exhausted, in the second-floor hallway, gasping for breath.

I propped myself against the wall and slowly moved downstairs, stopping in front of Jacob.

"They're all moved," I said, extending my trembling left hand.

"Give me the manuscripts."

Jacob pointed upstairs.

"They're in your bedroom. Get some rest. And don't ever cross Celeste again."

I didn't speak.

Didn't even look at him again.

Silently turned and went upstairs.