Chapter 170
KATYA POV
My foot missed a step, not by much but it was just enough to send the world lurching violently to the side, my grip slipping as the trunk jerked forward with a brutal tug that wrenched a sound from my throat before I could stop it.
Pain exploded up my spine, sharp and absolute, stealing my breath so completely I thought I might black out right there.
The railing slamd into my ribs as I stumbled, my knees buckling hard against the edge of the stair.
White burst across my vision, swallowing everything. I clung to the trunk handle like it was the only thing anchoring to the world.
Don’t fall. Don’t fall. If I fell, I didn’t know if I’d get back up. My body shook violently, muscles spasming in protest as I dragged in shallow, panicked breaths.
The stairwell felt too narrow, too tall, too endless—like it was closing in on . My vision tunneled. The walls blurred.
The steps doubled, then tripled, lting into one another as sweat dripped into my eyes and my hands went numb around the handle.
I sank down onto the step without aning to. Just for a second, I told myself. Just to breathe.
But the second stretched. The pain dulled into sothing heavy and distant, like it was no longer fully mine.
Sounds faded—the echo of my breathing, the thud of my heart, even the noise from gina—until everything felt muted, wrapped in cotton.
I don’t rember standing back up. I don’t rember how many steps I climbed after that.
Ti stopped behaving like it should. There were only fragnts, the trunk bumping against my shin, the cold press of stone through my uniform, a flash of light that might have been the top floor—or might not.
Soone laughed sowhere far away. Or maybe that was in my head.
The world narrowed to one thought, looping over and over like a prayer I didn’t believe in anymore.
Just get there. Just don’t stop.
____
I ca back to myself in pieces. Not all at once but in flashes. Cold marble against my cheek. The ache in my spine flaring the mont I tried to breathe too deeply.
The taste of iron still clinging to my tongue. My eyes fluttered open. I didn’t know where I was. The stairwell was gone. The endless steps. The echoing thuds.
I was lying on my side, half-curled, my cheek pressed to polished stone flooring that glead under soft overhead lights.
Top floor. The realization ca with a dull throb of panic. I’d made it. Sohow.
My fingers twitched weakly, scraping against the floor as I tried to push myself up. The movent sent a sharp reminder through my back, and I froze, breath catching painfully in my throat.
A pair of heels clicked into view. I lifted my gaze just enough to see Gina standing a few feet ahead of , her back to now, posture perfectly straight as she adjusted the cuff of her sleeve like she hadn’t just watched collapse.
She started walking. "Up," she said without turning around, I swallowed and tried again, my arms trembling as I pushed myself onto my hands and knees.
The room—or hallway—tilted briefly, then steadied. I could see the trunk now, abandoned a short distance away, one corner scuffed and darkened from the stairs.
It looked heavier than ever. Like it was mocking . Gina stopped a few steps ahead and glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes flicking over with open irritation.
"You fainted," she said flatly. "Don’t make a habit of it. The Donna doesn’t like weakness."
I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. This girl loves the sound of the Donna rolling of her tongue to be repeating it like a praying.
Instead, I nodded. A small, submissive movent. The kind that didn’t cost too much energy. Forcing myself upright inch by inch, leaning briefly against the wall as my vision swam.
My back scread in protest, the bandages pulling tight, damp and unforgiving. Gina had already turned away again, heels clicking as she continued down the hall.
"This way," she called, as if I were a guest who might get lost. I followed. My head throbbing as I lifted it slightly.
Gina was a few steps ahead of , walking like nothing had happened, heels clicking with calm precision.
She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. I swallowed, my heart beginning to pound, not from exertion this ti, but from sothing sinking.
We were walking. Down the hallway. I knew this floor. Of course I did. I had lived here for months.
The realization hit slowly at first, then all at once, like ice water poured straight into my chest. This wasn’t just any hallway.
This was mine. My heart started beating so loudly it drowned out Gina’s footsteps. Each turn, each familiar painting on the wall, each subtle curve of the corridor confird it.
We were heading to my room. No. Not my room. The Donna’s room.
My thoughts began to spiral, crashing into one another faster than I could catch them.
A room ant for a queen? I had been sleeping there. Bleeding there. Crying there.
Why? Why would soone like —soone Roo openly called his slave—be kept in a room like that?
No wonder Gina hated .
The pieces clicked together with sickening clarity. To her, it must have looked like mockery. Like favoritism. Like I had been placed sowhere I had no right to be.
I had wondered before. I’d noticed the space, the luxury, the way even senior staff avoided that door.
But I’d told myself it was practical. Close to Roo. Easy access. So he could hurt faster. So he could summon quicker.
I never once thought it ant sothing else. Never thought I was occupying a room ant for her.
What the fuck. We turned the corner. And I saw it. My door wide open.
My breath caught painfully in my throat. My things were scattered across the hallway like trash.
The few cloths Nonna had given . Folded once with care, now crushed and flung aside.
My worn shoes tossed near the wall. A thin sweater half-hanging from a chair leg, its sleeve dragging against the carpet. My eyes landed on the sundress, tat one was cut in pieces.
My chest seized. Without thinking—without caring—I broke, dropping the trunk handle completely and ran.
My body scread in protest, pain flaring hot and sharp through my spine, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
I stumbled forward, half-running, half-falling, collapsing to my knees beside the pile of clothes like they were sothing alive—sothing I needed to protect.
My hands shook as I gathered them up, clutching fabric to my chest like it could anchor .
That was all I had. That, and the room behind that open door. The room that was never ant to be mine.
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