Berlin stumbled backward, her wrist throbbing. Now get out of my sight. Berlin ran. She made it to the hallway before the tears came.
What had she done? What nightmare had she walked into? The man in that room wasn’t just angry.
He was dangerous. The kind of person who hurt others because he couldn’t stop hurting himself.
And she was supposed to live with him. Pretend to be his wife. Survive long enough to get the keepsake back from Nadine.
Berlin pressed her hand against her chest, feeling for the phantom weight of the locket that wasn’t there.
Her parents somewhere out there, her real parents existed or had existed. Maybe they were dead.
Maybe they were searching for her. Maybe they had never wanted her at all. But the locket was her only chance of knowing.
And for that chance, she would endure anything. Even a monster like Zir Langston. The first week was hell.
Zier refused to eat, refused to leave his room, refused to acknowledge Berlin’s existence except to throw things at the door when she knocked.
The staff avoided her like she carried disease. They whispered behind her back, called her a gold digger, placed bets on how long she would last.
Berlin ate her meals alone, wandered the mansion’s endless corridors alone. Lay awake at night alone, wondering if she had made the worst mistake of her life.
But on the eighth morning, everything changed. Berlin was walking past the kitchen when she heard the crash.
Then the screaming. She rushed toward the noise and stopped dead in the doorway. The kitchen was a battlefield.
Food splattered the walls. Broken plates covered the floor. A heavy set man in a chef’s uniform cowered by the stove, sobbing.
And in the center of the destruction sat Zahire Langston, his wheelchair surrounded by ruins.
“I said I’m not hungry,” Zier roared. “Are you deaf? Are you stupid? Take this garbage away before I shove it down your throat.”
The chef, Gordon, wept harder. “Sir, please. You haven’t eaten in 4 days.” The doctor said, “I don’t care what the doctor said.”
Zire grabbed a plate and hurled it. It shattered inches from Gordon’s head. The chef screamed and fled, pushing past Berlin without seeing her.
Silence fell. Zire sat there breathing hard, surrounded by destruction. His hands were shaking. His jaw was tight.
And for just a moment, Berlin saw something beneath the rage. Pain, exhaustion, despair. She should leave, should run like everyone else, should protect herself.
But something inside her snapped. That was pathetic. Zire’s head whipped toward her, his eyes blazed.
What did you just say? Berlin stepped into the kitchen, glass crunching under her slippers.
Her heart hammered so loud she could hear it. But she kept walking. I said that was pathetic.
A grown man throwing food at walls, making his chef cry, refusing to eat because what?
Because you’re angry at the world. Zire’s face contorted with fury. You don’t know anything about You’re right.
I don’t. Berlin reached the table and surveyed the scattered breakfast. Eggs, toast, fresh fruit, all ruined.
I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t know why you’re in that chair.
I don’t know why you’ve decided to make everyone around you miserable. She turned to face him directly.
But I know what I saw. A man who’s been cooking for you for years.
Who clearly cares whether you live or die. Running out of here in tears because you couldn’t control your temper.
Zire’s grip tightened on his armrests. He’s paid to cook, not to care. Is he?
Because Gordon’s the only person in this house who hasn’t given up on you. Berlin crossed her arms.
Everyone else has. The nurses, the doctors, your family, they’re all waiting for you to rot away.
But Gordon keeps making you breakfast every single day. Even though you throw it at walls, even though you scream at him, even though you haven’t thanked him once, she paused.
That’s not just a paycheck. That’s someone who still sees you as a human being, and you made him feel worthless for it.
The kitchen went silent. Zire stared at her with an expression she couldn’t read. Something flickered in those dark eyes.
Surprise, confusion, interest. You done? He finally asked. Almost. Berlin walked to the counter and found a pan of eggs still warm on the stove.
She scraped them onto a surviving plate. Added toast, fruit, carried the plate to Zire and set it on his lap.
Eat. His laugh was sharp, disbelieving. You’re ordering me to eat in my own house?
Yes. And if I refuse? Berlin picked up a fork, scooped some eggs, and held it directly in front of his face.
