Pregnancy Amidst Cruelty

Within days of her arrival, Georgina had completely transformed the dynamics of the Turner mansion. She moved into the master bedroom with Kian—my bedroom, technically, though I'd never been permitted to sleep there. I was relocated to a damp servant's quarters in the basement, a windowless cell with a narrow cot and peeling wallpaper.

The first night they spent together, I was scrubbing the hallway outside the master bedroom when Georgina deliberately left the door ajar. Her theatrical moans echoed through the corridor, each sound designed to reach my ears as I knelt on the hard floor.

"Arlet," Kian's voice groaned. "Arlet."

My hands froze mid-scrub. He was calling her by her sister's name. Georgina had somehow convinced him to pretend she was Arlet, feeding his delusion, his obsession.

"Yes," Georgina whispered loudly enough for me to hear. "Think of me as her. I can be her for you."

I pressed my forehead against the cool wall, trying to block out their voices, but Georgina only grew louder, ensuring I couldn't escape the humiliation.

This became our nightly ritual—me cleaning outside their door, them performing for my benefit. Sometimes Georgina would emerge afterward, wrapped in nothing but a silk robe, to inspect my work.

"You missed a spot," she would say, pointing to an imaginary stain. "Start over."

And I would, because what choice did I have? Sage needed her medication, her treatments. The thought of my sister was the only thing that kept me going as the days blurred into weeks.

One morning, I received a call from Dr. Harrison, Sage's cardiologist. Her condition had deteriorated significantly; she needed a specialized procedure that would cost far more than the monthly allowance Kian provided for her care.

Desperation drove me to Kian's study, where he sat reviewing documents. I knocked softly, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Enter," he commanded.

I stood before his desk, eyes downcast as I'd been trained to do. "Sage needs additional treatment. The doctor says without it, she could—"

"How much?" Kian interrupted, not looking up from his papers.

I named the sum, and his pen paused mid-signature. He finally raised his eyes to mine, his expression unreadable.

"That's a considerable amount," he said slowly. "Why should I provide it?"

"Please," I whispered, hating the desperation in my voice. "She's innocent in all this. She's just a child."

Something flickered in his eyes—hesitation, perhaps even a hint of humanity—but before he could respond, the study door opened. Georgina glided in, her face a perfect mask of concern.

"Darling, is everything alright?" she asked, placing a possessive hand on Kian's shoulder.

"Lillian is asking for money for her sister's treatment," he explained, his tone hardening again under Georgina's touch.

Georgina's eyes filled with perfectly timed tears. "Oh, how difficult this must be for you, Kian. To be asked to spend your fortune saving the family that destroyed your beloved Arlet."

She circled the desk, her movements fluid and calculated. "It seems almost... wrong, doesn't it? Like rewarding them for what they did."

Kian's jaw tightened as he looked at me with renewed coldness.

"Perhaps," Georgina continued softly, "if Lillian truly cares for her sister, she should be willing to earn the money through greater... atonement."

The word hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. Kian studied me for a long moment before nodding slowly.

"You'll clean every floor in the mansion," he declared. "With this."

He opened his desk drawer and removed a toothbrush—small, insignificant, and utterly inadequate for the task.

"When you've finished, we'll discuss your sister's treatment."

The following day, Georgina hosted an elaborate tea party for the city's elite socialites. I was on my hands and knees in the grand foyer, scrubbing the marble with the tiny toothbrush as guests arrived, stepping around me as if I were invisible.

"In the drawing room, ladies," Georgina announced, leading them past me with a secret smile of satisfaction.

For hours, I worked beneath them, the sound of their laughter and gossip filtering down as my knees bled through my dress. Occasionally, Georgina would appear at the top of the stairs, deliberately dropping crumbs or spilling tea.

"Oh dear," she would call down. "Could you clean that up immediately? We can't have any mess."

One of her guests peered down at me, her diamond earrings catching the light. "Your maid is so thorough, Georgina. Where did you find her?"

Georgina's eyes met mine, gleaming with triumph. "Oh, she came with the house. She's very dedicated to her position."

The women laughed, never suspecting that the maid on her bleeding knees was actually the legal mistress of the mansion they were admiring.

As I scrubbed, I thought of Sage, alone in her hospital bed. For her, I would endure this. For her, I would survive.