Lucille hadn't eaten all day, and no one came to ask her to clean again. Even though her heart was heavy, she somehow managed to sleep well.
When she finally woke up, it was already dark outside. She stretched slowly and sat up in bed. That was when she heard a knock at the door. Were they watching her to know the exact moment she woke up?
"Come in," she said with a yawn.
The door opened, and Ophelia walked in. Her face was just as cold as Lucille remembered. If it wasn't for their short, kind moment earlier that day, Lucille might have taken her expression the wrong way. But now she understood. Ophelia wore that coldness like armor, something she needed to survive in this house.
"He's calling for you," Ophelia said flatly.
"He's in the living room," she added before turning and walking away.
Lucille got out of bed, stretched again, and slipped her feet into her slippers. She had cleaned the house twice already since arriving, so finding the living room wasn't hard. But with each step, her heart beat a little faster.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside. There he was, leaning back on the sofa, his forehead creased like he'd been thinking too hard—or was just in a bad mood.
Her eyes quickly swept across the living room. It was everything she expected—no, even more. The only word that came to mind was grand.
Every piece of furniture, every design in the room spoke of wealth, luxury, and power. No wonder he was so respected at the university. At his young age, he was already surrounded by riches, not earned, but inherited. Born into gold.
"You called for me," she said, her voice calm as she tried not to show how tense she felt.
Slowly, he turned his sharp eyes to her, scanned her from head to toe, then scoffed loudly, full of disgust. Without saying much, he pointed to the table.
"Pick it up," he said, his tone filled with contempt.
Lucille followed his finger and saw a paper lying on the center table. She walked over, picked it up, and waited.
"Read it out loud!" he snapped.
She scanned through the paper. It was a long list of chores and duties expected from her. Some were as harsh as cleaning the entire house. The list seemed never-ending.
After reading silently, she looked up. "I'm done."
"The time for each task is clearly written. So are the punishments for skipping or being late," he said coldly, as if he didn't care what she thought.
"Get out!" he spat, fiercly.
She rushed out of the sitting room and returned to her bedroom. Alone, she unfolded the paper once more and read it slowly, carefully, again and again.
One thing was certain: her five years in this house would be pure torment. All she could do was pray she made it out alive.
Maybe because she refused to take orders from that woman, Edward had typed out all her duties himself, so the woman wouldn't have to keep reminding her.
She glanced at the clock. 7:15 p.m. In ten minutes, she was expected to drain the swimming pool by hand, scrub it clean, and refill it with fresh water.
Even as an omega, Lucille had read many books. She understood technology. That pool could be emptied, cleaned, and refilled with just the press of a button. But Edward didn't care. He wanted her to suffer through it manually.
Lucille left her room and followed the narrow path to the pool. Her breath caught the moment she saw it. The pool was huge, stretching wide like a lake, its water calm and untouched.
How was she supposed to empty it? Wash it? Refill it? It felt impossible. It felt cruel.
"This isn't work… it's punishment," she whispered to herself, her chest tightening.
"Three minutes to start," a deep voice said, cutting through the silence.
She spun around and found a man standing at the edge of the pool. His face was cold and unreadable. Her wolf whimpered deep inside her, sensing his dominant rank.
"You have one hour to finish, as written in the roster," he said flatly, not even looking at her.
Lucille swallowed hard. An hour? The man wasn't lying. That was exactly what the roster said. If she failed to complete the task, she'd be punished, by standing for ten whole hours.
Lucille looked around and noticed the buckets placed nearby. She walked over to them. One held cleaning agents and disinfectant.
How thoughtful. Everything was already set up for her.
She paused, her mind spinning. Maybe standing for ten hours wasn't such a bad idea after all. At least it wouldn't break her body like this task might. But then again, ten hours on her feet, without rest… that would be torture too.
There was no easy way out. Either way, she'd suffer.
Her eyes shifted to the man again. He stood firm, his gaze fixed ahead, cold and unreadable. He wasn't going anywhere.
He must have been sent to watch her. To make sure she didn't run. Or rest. Or even breathe the wrong way.
From the bedroom window above, Edward stood, arms crossed, watching her. His eyes were cold. A small smile touched his lips as he watched her struggle. There was satisfaction in his gaze, like he was proud of what she was going through.
Lucille hurried to the store, then returned with a huge basin. She dragged it to the edge. It was too heavy for her to lift, but she didn't care.
She bent low, scooping water with a smaller bowl and pouring it into the basin again and again. Her back screamed in pain. Her arms felt like fire. Her clothes clung to her body, soaked with sweat and water. Tears filled her eyes, a d she allowed them fall. Her heart was shattering, the pain unbearable.
Thirty minutes passed. Only half the pool was empty. Her entire body ached. Her breath seemed to be ceasing. Her chest rose and fell fast. Her legs were trembling, her fingers numb.
Ophelia, stood quietly in the corner of the house, her hands clenched at her sides. She wanted to help badly. But all the servants had been warned. No one was to speak to Lucille. No one was allowed to help her. So she stood there, helpless, her eyes wet with unshed tears.
At the fortieth minute, Lucille finally emptied the pool, and she slumped on the floor of the pool. Her knees hit the floor hard. Feebly, she picked up a brush and began to scrub. Her fingers were shaking. Her skin was red and raw. But she didn't stop. She couldn't.
Done, she weakly glanced around. Her tired gaze fell on a hose lying on the floor where the tap was situated. On her knees, she crept to the tap, with trembling hands, picked it up, and connected it to the tap. The water began to pour back in.
Lucille sat back, breathing hard. Her chest burned. Her vision blurred. Every part of her body throbbed. She collapsed on the floor. She felt death coming, like a heavy rush of hurricane, ready to wrap around her. Her heartbeat slowed. Her breath grew shallow.
And then… a thought crept in.
Shift.
If you want to live… shift.
With the last bit of strength in her dying body, Lucille shifted into her wolf. Silver fur replaced skin. Bones cracked and reshaped. Her wolf form collapsed on the cold concrete floor, her body curled in pain. Her golden eyes were dim. She didn't move. She barely breathed. It was the only way to survive. Her wolf could handle the pain better. Her human body would not have made it.
From her corner, Ophelia's heart broke. Ignoring everything, she shifted too, her small wolf body trembling as she padded over to Lucille.
She lay beside her on the pavement.
Lucille's wolf whimpered softly, her eyes squeezed shut as pain pulsed through her. Ophelia's wolf pressed her head against Lucille's neck, letting out a low, broken whine.
They didn't speak. They couldn't. But they felt each other's pain. Then suddenly, a loud footsteps was approaching.