Chapter 11 - The Bucket
Vanessa’s breathing became erratic. No one in her carefully manipulated world had ever dared to tell her no, especially not someone she considered a servant. She spun around and marched into the adjacent utility closet.
I heard the sound of rushing water, followed by the clanking of metal.
She emerged holding a large steel cleaning bucket, filled halfway with dirty, gray mop water left over from the morning chores. She hauled it forward, her muscles straining, until she stood just three feet away from me.
Before I could react, she swung her arms forward.
The heavy bucket hit my shoulder with a painful thud, and a wave of freezing, foul-smelling gray water crashed over my head. The liquid soaked the synthetic wig, instantly plastering it to my scalp, and ran down my face, stinging my eyes. The dirty water seeped under the collar of my faded uniform, chilling me to the bone.
Vanessa dropped the empty bucket beside my shoes with a loud clatter. She threw her head back and laughed—a harsh, echoing sound, as if humiliating an old housekeeper were the funniest, most satisfying thing she had done all week.
“You look disgusting,” she sneered, looking at my dripping clothes. “Someone needs to wash the filth off you.”
I stood there, water dripping from my chin onto the marble. I slowly raised my sleeve and wiped the dirty water from my glasses. Beneath the soaked fabric, my thumb firmly pressed the stop button on the recorder in my pocket. I had everything I needed.
I looked past her, toward the grand staircase.
May you like
“Daniel,” I called out, my natural, authoritative voice cutting through her laughter. “Could you come down, please?”
Vanessa’s smile flickered, and she whipped her head around toward the stairs.
