Chapter 16: Stand until I wake

A servant had pointed to the room earlier, saying it belonged to Edward.

Now Lucille stood in front of it, unsure how to go in.

Her body swayed weakly. Her joints felt like they were cracking under her own weight. Every muscle in her body screamed. Her eyes burned with exhaustion.

Her stomach twisted painfully. She could taste the hunger in her mouth. Since the little food she ate that morning before the long journey, nothing else had touched her lips. No one had offered. No one had asked.

But once she cleaned this last room, she could finally rest. Maybe even find something to eat.

She raised a weak hand and knocked softly on the door, but, there was no answer.

She waited, then knocked again, this time a bit louder.

A deep voice finally responded. “What is it?”

She gripped the handle and slowly turned it. The door opened with a creak. Holding the mop bucket, she stepped in.

Edward lay on the bed, half-covered with a sheet. His eyes were cold, watching her like she was nothing more than a shadow.

“What do you want?” he asked, his tone sharp and dry.

Lucille kept her voice steady, though her throat felt dry. “I’m sorry to bother you. I need to clean the room.”

Edward frowned, lifting his head slightly. “Clean my room? At this hour?”

“It was your order,” she answered softly, careful not to sound defensive.

She was too tired for more trouble. Too tired to argue. Too tired to cry.

His eyes narrowed, thoughtful. Then his brows lifted slightly as he seemed to remember.

“Ah, right. I did say that,” he muttered. “But I’m about to sleep.”

Lucille felt a brief glimmer of joy. If Edward was about to sleep, then maybe she could leave without having to clean the room. But that joy vanished in an instant.

“You can wait here until I wake up. Then you can clean,” he added, his voice flat and dismissive.

Her hope shattered. The weight of his words crushed her spirit. Stand and wait for him to wake up? That was cruel.

“I…” she started, but his voice cut through her words like a blade.

“It’s my order. From my lips,” he snapped, his tone harsh.

He pulled the blanket up and turned his back on her, signaling the end of their conversation.

With a flick of his finger, he pressed the switch beside his bed. The chandelier’s bright silvery light went out, leaving the room dim. The golden glow from the lamp on the nightstand twinkled to life, casting soft shadows on the walls.

Lucille’s fingers tightened around the bucket, her heart sinking with a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

How was she supposed to stand and wait for him to wake up?

Not quite long, she heard his breathing slow and steady, the rhythmic sound of sleep. He was already deep in it.

Her legs felt heavy, her body trembling with fatigue. Slowly, Lucille dropped the bucket onto the floor.

She leaned her back against the cold wall, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to gather some strength.

Her stomach churned painfully, growling in protest for not being fed. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, which were burning from exhaustion.

How could she sleep standing up? The thought felt impossible.

Ignoring the merciless hunger, she slowly slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, her back still propped awkwardly against the cold surface. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

But even as her body begged for rest, she couldn’t fully close her eyes.

The discomfort, the hunger, the coldness of the floor, they all kept her awake, her mind spinning in the quiet, dark room.

Her first day in his house, and already, she was drained. Five more years. Five.

The thought seemed to shatter her heart, but she couldn't bring herself to cry.

What was the point? She had no energy for tears. All she craved now was sleep, just a few hours of peace, if she could get it.

With a sigh, she shifted her position and laid flat on the cold floor, the chill seeping into her bones.

Within moments, exhaustion overcame her, and she drifted into a deep sleep.

A few hours later…

A sharp pain in her stomach jolted her awake. She winced, sitting up slowly, rubbing the aching spot on her stomach as the discomfort lingered.

Her surroundings slowly came into focus. The mopping bucket lay where she’d left it, and beyond it, Edward's figure on the bed.

Her body ached as she stood, stretching her stiff muscles, trying to get some feeling back into her limbs.

Her eyes drifted toward the man on the bed. He was sleeping, his back to her. 

He used to be her mate, but that bond was broken, and now, he was just the man who ordered her around.

Lucille studied the room in silence. It was vast, luxurious.

A king-size bed took up most of the space, and blue curtains with silvery stones hung delicately on the windows, drawn just slightly to let in the light of dawn. 

The nightstand beside the bed held a lamp, its golden glow casting a soft light across the room.

A graceful sofa sat at the far end of the room, with a small glass table in front of it. The chandelier hung above the ceiling.

The floor was marble, cold and smooth under her feet. The walls were painted white, almost blinding in their simplicity.

She turned her gaze toward the window. Dawn was breaking.

And then, just as she thought she could breathe, he stirred. Slowly, he turned, his eyes meeting hers. His gaze locked onto her with a frown deepening on his face.

"What are you doing here?" Edward's voice was sharp, icy.

Lucille, exhausted, rubbed her eyes and explained tiredly, "You asked me to wait here until you wake up, so I can clean."

He stared at her in disbelief, blinking slowly. She had really stood there all night?

"Can I clean now?" she asked, her voice polite despite the weariness.

Edward blinked again, clearly still processing. After a moment, he waved her off.

"Clean the rest of the house. After that, come back here and clean this room," he said, getting out of bed.

Lucille's heart sank. "I’ve cleaned the house already," she reminded him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"That was yesterday. The house needs cleaning today. It’s my order," Edward said coldly, moving towards another part of the room, probably the closet or bathroom.

Her legs felt like they might give way, but she stood frozen.

Was he seriously expecting her to clean the entire house again? She hadn’t eaten since yesterday and was completely drained.

When he emerged again, he saw her still standing at the same spot.

"What are you still doing here?" he growled, his voice snapping her out of her thoughts.

Lucille hesitated before speaking up, "I haven’t eaten since I came in yesterday."

He scoffed, a cruel laugh escaping him. "Food? Here? Is that why you came? To eat?" His voice dripped with mockery.

She swallowed her pride and repeated, "I haven’t eaten since I came in. It’s been a whole day." Her words were firm, yet, she was careful not to offend him.

Edward stared at her with a look of disgust. "So what? Should I cook for you?" he snapped.

"No, please. Can I eat before I continue with my cleaning?" she asked, hoping for just a moment of mercy.

"You will not," he replied, his voice firm and cutting.

"But I—"

"Get out!" he barked, cutting her off. His command was final.

Lucille didn’t argue. She turned and left the room, her stomach aching, her body begging for rest.

She spent hours cleaning the house, sweeping, mopping, and dusting, even though she had already cleaned not long ago.

By the time she finished, her back was in agony, and her waist felt like it was about to break off.

Her tired body dragged itself to Edward's room, the last place to clean. She paused in front of the door, took a deep breath, and whispered a prayer to herself.

She knocked softly. Edward's voice answered, and she opened the door, walking inside.

"I want to clean," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Edward, who had been looking out the window, turned to give her a cold, hard glare.

He studied her for a moment. He could see the exhaustion on her face, and it pleased him. This was what he wanted, to see her suffering, to remind her of her place, a worthless omega.

"Do it quickly!" he snapped, turning to leave.

As he reached the door, he stopped and turned back, his words sharp. "Nothing should be missing," he warned, his voice full of loathe.

"Omegas are criminals!" he spat, before storming out.

Her heart sank, and tears filled her eyes, but she forced herself not to cry.

She began cleaning slowly, every movement aching. It didn’t take long before she finished, but by then, it was already late afternoon.

She stepped out of the room and headed to the store to return the cleaning supplies. Then, she went back to her room, opened the door, and collapsed onto the mattress.

The tears she'd been holding back for so long finally poured out.

She cried, deep sobs shaking her body. If this was what life would be like in Edward's house, she wasn’t sure she could survive it.

A knock echoed on her door, and her wolf stirred with excitement. It was an omega. Quickly, she wiped her tears and stood up to answer the door.

When she opened it, her heart dropped. The omega girl who had taken her bag when she first arrived was standing there, her face cold and full of malice.