His Pathetic, Worthless Affection

At six in the morning, I brewed his coffee just the way he liked it and bought his favorite bacon, egg, and cheese bagel from the corner shop.

Rhys didn’t like lettuce, and he didn’t like his coffee too bitter.

I remembered these things better than my own birthday.

Out of habit, I had the clerk add an extra slice of cheese.

At seven, Rhys came downstairs.

He paused when he saw the breakfast laid out on the table.

I stood beside the dining table, my hands clasped meekly before me.

"Mr. Prescott, breakfast is ready."

He strode over, his eyes landing on the bagel.

The next second, he scraped the plate and its contents into the sink and flipped the switch on the garbage disposal.

A harsh grinding sound ripped through the silence.

Rhys looked at me coldly. "Genevieve Sterling, what do you take me for? I stopped eating cheap trash like this years ago."

I watched the food disappear, a dull ache in my chest.

I was the one who’d once complained bagels were too dry, making him switch to croissants just for me.

To please me, he had forced himself to acquire a taste for butter.

Now, the bagels he once loved were beneath his notice.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware of your preferences."

I crouched down to clean up the spilled coffee.

He didn't even glance at me as he stepped over my hunched form and took a bottle of Fiji water from the fridge.

"There's a charity gala tonight. You're coming with me."

He took a sip of water, his tone flat.

"Given my... situation, I don't think that's a good idea."

"What situation?" he interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The whore, or the fallen heiress of the Sterling family?"

I was speechless.

"You're my date. You'll act the part."

He threw a black gift box at me.

"Wear this. Don't embarrass me."

That afternoon, a stylist arrived to do my hair and makeup.

I opened the box. Inside was a scandalously revealing designer gown.

There was barely any fabric. The back was completely bare, the slit running all the way up my thigh.

This was the kind of dress a desperate starlet wore to get noticed on the red carpet, not a gown for the Met Gala.

But I had no right to refuse.

I put it on and stood before the mirror, my eyes downcast. The woman in the reflection was just an object up for auction.

At eight that evening, we arrived at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

I entered on Rhys's arm.

Instantly, hundreds of eyes were on me.

"Isn't that Genevieve Sterling?"

"What heiress? The Sterlings are finished. I heard she’s desperate enough to do anything for money."

"Well, well. Dressed like that, she must be Prescott's new pet. To think she used to be so arrogant."

Rhys, seemingly deaf to the whispers, guided me through the throng.

The wealthy heirs who once swarmed me now eyed me with a mixture of amusement and malice.

A greasy investor approached, holding a glass of wine.

"Rhys, not bad. She looks familiar. Great body on her."

His lecherous eyes raked over my chest.

I instinctively shrank behind Rhys.

But Rhys took a deliberate step to the side, leaving me fully exposed to the investor’s gaze.

He sipped his champagne, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"She has her uses. If you're interested, I can have her pour you a drink sometime."

I looked up at him, searching his face.

There was no protection in his eyes, only cold satisfaction.

"It's a deal then!" The man reached out to touch my waist.

I fought back a wave of nausea and sidestepped his touch.

"Ooh, feisty," the man muttered, a flicker of displeasure in his eyes.

"It's more fun to tame them slowly, isn't it, Genevieve?"

Rhys turned his head, his voice a gentle caress that made my blood run cold.

I lowered my head.

"Yes, Mr. Prescott is right."

Just then, Chloe Radcliffe swept in, wearing a white haute couture gown.

Her face lit up with a sweet smile when she saw Rhys.

"Rhys! I'm so sorry I'm late, the traffic was a nightmare."

Rhys immediately abandoned me and strode to her side, his arm wrapping naturally around her waist.

Chloe pretended to have just noticed me, her hand flying to her mouth in feigned surprise.

"Oh, is that Gen? Long time no see. Why are you dressed like that...?"

A flash of triumphant malice crossed her eyes, quickly masked by a look of concern.

"Have things been hard for you? You've gotten so thin."

She took a step closer, and the hand holding her champagne glass suddenly "trembled."

The amber liquid spilled directly onto my chest.

I raised my hand to block it, and the back of my hand brushed against her wrist.

"Ah!"

Chloe cried out as the glass shattered on the marble floor.

She clutched her wrist, her eyes welling with tears as she looked at Rhys.

"Rhys, I was just trying to say hello to Gen. I think she’s still mad at me for... for taking you from her."

The crowd fell silent.

Rhys strode over, grabbing Chloe’s wrist to inspect it before turning on me.

"Genevieve Sterling, do you have a death wish?"

A tremor of raw heartbreak and injustice shot through me.

"I didn't push her. She spilled it on purpose."

"And why would Chloe spill champagne on herself?"

Rhys sneered. "Apologize to her."

There was no trust in his eyes. Only disgust.

Chloe tugged on his sleeve, whispering, "Rhys, please, let it go. I'm sure Gen didn't mean it. Everyone is watching..."

Rhys’s gaze on me grew colder. "Genevieve. Don't make me say it again."

Any backbone I had left, any shred of pride, had long been ground to dust by this man.

I bent at the waist, facing Chloe.

"I'm sorry, Miss Radcliffe. It was my fault."

My swift surrender didn't satisfy him.

He pointed to a row of specialty strong whiskeys on a nearby table.

"Since it was an accident, drink these as your apology. Finish them, and we'll call it even."

There were five or six different bottles of hard liquor.

I looked up at him. "Mr. Prescott, I have a stomach ulcer. That much hard liquor... I could start bleeding internally."

"That's your problem."

He put his arm around Chloe and turned away, not sparing me another glance.

The crowd watched, hungry for the spectacle.

My hand trembled as I picked up the first glass.

The liquid burned a path down my throat, and a searing pain erupted in my stomach.

One glass, two, three...

By the fifth glass, a violent cramp seized my gut.

I covered my mouth and ran for the restroom.

I threw up until I was dizzy, until all that came out was bright red blood.

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and stared at my ghostly reflection in the mirror.

Outside, I could hear the faint sound of men's laughter.

"Serves her right. It's about time she was brought down a peg."