After My Bodyguard Faked Her Death, I Lost Everything

The morning started like any other. I stood outside Ambrose's study at six. My back still ached from the basement. The cuts on my wrists had scabbed over. I'd wrapped them in gauze before putting on my uniform.

Ambrose walked past me at seven without a word. Madelynn followed him like a shadow in pale pink silk. She glanced at me. Her eyes were bright. Excited.

Something was coming.

At ten, I was summoned to the east parlor. It was a formal room with tall windows and furniture that cost more than most people's houses. Madelynn sat on the cream sofa. Biscuit was curled in her lap, white fur pristine against the pink fabric.

Ambrose stood by the fireplace. His posture was stiff. Controlled.

"Lennox," Madelynn said softly. "Come sit with me. Biscuit missed you."

I stayed by the door. "I'm on duty, Miss Hicks."

"Please." She smiled. "Just for a moment. Ambrose says I worry too much. I want to make sure you're all right after... everything."

Her voice dripped with concern. Ambrose turned to look at me. His expression was unreadable.

I crossed the room. Sat in the chair across from her. Madelynn lifted Biscuit and placed the cat directly onto my lap before I could refuse.

"There," she said. "See? She likes you."

Biscuit's claws pricked through my uniform pants. I kept my hands at my sides. I didn't touch the animal.

Madelynn reached forward as if to adjust the cat. Her sleeve rode up. In that split second, I saw her drag her own forearm across Biscuit's extended claws. The motion was fast. Deliberate. Four red lines appeared on her pale skin.

She gasped and jerked back. "Ow! Biscuit, no—"

The cat hissed and jumped off my lap. Madelynn clutched her arm. She was breathing hard. Too hard.

"Are you all right?" Ambrose moved toward her.

"I... I think so. It's just a scratch." But her voice was shaking now. She looked down at her arm. The scratches were already swelling. Red welts spreading fast.

Too fast.

"Madelynn?" Ambrose's tone sharpened.

She swayed. Her hand went to her throat. "I can't... I can't breathe..."

Ambrose caught her as her knees buckled. "Call the doctor. Now!"

A maid ran from the room. I stood slowly. Watched Madelynn's face turn blotchy. Watched hives bloom across her neck and collarbone like she'd been stung by a hundred bees. Her breathing turned into shallow, wheezing gasps.

It looked real. It looked terrifying.

Ambrose lowered her onto the sofa. His hands were shaking. "What happened?"

Madelynn's eyes found mine. Even through her distress, I saw the calculation. "Lennox... she pushed Biscuit onto me... the claws..."

"I didn't touch the cat," I said.

Ambrose's head snapped toward me. "You were holding her."

"Miss Hicks placed her on my lap."

"Don't lie to me." His voice was ice. "Madelynn is allergic. Everyone in this house knows that. You deliberately—"

"I didn't."

The doctor arrived. He injected something into Madelynn's arm. Checked her pulse. Within minutes, her breathing eased. The hives began to fade. She sagged against the cushions, tears streaming down her face.

"She tried to hurt me," Madelynn whispered. "She's always hated me. Now she's using Biscuit to—"

"Enough." Ambrose stood. His jaw was tight. He looked at me like I was something he'd found on the bottom of his shoe. "You're confined to quarters until I decide what to do with you."

I didn't argue. I turned and walked out.

Behind me, I heard Madelynn's soft, broken sobs. I heard Ambrose murmur comfort. I heard him promise her that I would be dealt with.

Six days left.

That night, I was summoned to the main hall. Every staff member stood along the walls. Rosa. The cook. The groundskeepers. Marcus Chen. All of them silent and stiff.

Ambrose stood at the center of the room. In his hand was a leather strap. It was old. Traditional. Part of the Collins family's archaic disciplinary code that his grandfather had enforced and that Ambrose had never abolished.

Madelynn sat in a chair near the window. She'd changed into a white dress. Her arm was bandaged. She held a teacup in her lap.

"Kneel," Ambrose said.

I knelt on the marble floor. The stone was cold through my uniform pants.

"Remove your shirt."

I unbuttoned it slowly. Pulled it off. My back was still healing from the basement. The cuts hadn't closed yet.

Ambrose saw them. His expression didn't change.

"Thirty-three lashes," he said. "For deliberate harm against a member of this household."

I didn't defend myself. There was no point. He'd already decided.

The first strike split the air. Then my skin. I bit down hard. Tasted copper.

The second landed on top of the first.

I counted in my head. Focused on the numbers. Not the fire spreading across my back. Not the warm blood running down my spine. Not the faces of the staff who wouldn't meet my eyes.

Madelynn sipped her tea.

Twenty.

Twenty-five.

Thirty.

Thirty-three.

Ambrose dropped the strap. "Return to your quarters. You're dismissed from duty until further notice."

I stood. My legs shook but held. I picked up my ruined shirt and walked out. Blood soaked into the fabric. Dripped onto the marble.

No one followed me.

In my bathroom, I stood in front of the mirror. My back looked like a lattice. Skin torn in overlapping lines. Some cuts deep. Some shallow. All of them burning.

I cleaned them with water and antiseptic. Wrapped what I could reach. Then I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled out the burner phone.

I didn't call Marcus Reid. Not yet. I just stared at the screen.

Day One was done.

Six more to go.