Too Late to Love Me Now

Alessia "Blake" Falcone POV:

I returned to the penthouse to perform my penance.

I walked straight to my father, who was reading the paper in his leather armchair, and stood before him, my head bowed.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice soft, trembling just enough to be convincing.

It was a carefully crafted act of contrition.

I played the part of the scared, foolish daughter, telling him I'd only acted out of worry for my mother, that I was afraid she wouldn't survive on her own.

My fingers deliberately ghosted over the cut on my cheek, a silent reminder.

"I told them it was an accident at school," I whispered, letting him fill in the blanks-the questions, the rumors.

His reputation. It was his Achilles' heel.

He bought the performance. The tension visibly drained from his shoulders.

"Just stay away from her," he warned, his voice still rough, but its murderous edge had vanished.

"I'll take care of things."

He was reaching for his wallet, about to restore my allowance, when Karel glided into the room.

She stopped him with a single, cool look.

"Let her earn it," she suggested, her voice like silk-wrapped steel.

She smiled, but it was just a small, cruel curving of her lips.

I jumped in before my father could protest, my voice a mask of false eagerness.

"I can do that. My mother taught me how to clean."

The mention of my mother instantly soured the air.

My father waved a dismissive hand, suddenly desperate to change the subject.

"No, that won't be necessary."

A small victory.

But Karel wasn't finished.

That night, a broken porcelain doll was sitting on my bed.

It was one of hers, another casualty of my father's recent rages.

A note lay beside it, her elegant script forming a stark command.

"Fix it."

I stared at the doll's shattered face, its painted-on smile split into a grotesque crack.

She wanted to make me her maid. She wanted to see me kneeling on the floor, piecing together the things her monster broke.

I took the doll and the note, hiding them in the back of my closet, under the loose floorboard where I used to keep my money.

I would not be their maid.

I would not be broken.

I would endure.