Noemie stood frozen, her hands trembling, her eyes swollen from the stream of silent tears that refused to stop. "This is merciless," she said, voice cracking. "Why are you doing this to me? Aren't you a teacher too? Don't you have any sense of what this will do to me? To my life?"
The principal sat behind the desk, composed, legs crossed, hands folded on her lap. Her lips curled into a slight smile, a chilling contrast to the desperation before her. "If everyone becomes good, Noemie," she said, calm and unflinching, "then how will the world move forward? Someone must be evil. Someone must play the villain."
Noemie shook her head, her voice trembling. "That's not what teaching is. We're supposed to guide them, protect them....."
"Spare me the idealism," the principal interrupted, standing up and walking slowly around the desk. "In the end, all of this....." she gestured around the office ".....it's politics. Appearances. Reputation. Sacrifices. And sometimes, those sacrifices look a lot like you."
Before Noemie could respond, the principal's phone rang. She answered, putting it on speaker. The screen lit up with a number, and then a voice echoed through the room.....it was the boy's father.
"Good afternoon, Principal. You asked us to call.....what's going on?"
Noemie's eyes widened. She began shaking her head, mouthing please no, her lips quivering.
The principal gave her a pointed glance, then turned to the phone. "Yes, thank you for calling. I just needed to clarify a few things. There's.... been a small issue at the school."
Noemie clutched her chest, pleading silently, her breath shallow.
"Nothing serious," the principal continued smoothly, pacing the room. "Just a misunderstanding involving one of the staff. Everything's under control now."
The parents sounded confused. "Is our son okay? Did something happen to him?"
The principal paused. She glanced at Noemie again, letting the silence stretch long enough to suffocate. Then she smiled. "Of course, he's fine. Just a bit of concern from one of the teachers. These things happen in close academic environments."
The call ended shortly after, and the principal leaned over her desk, sliding a piece of paper toward Noemie. It was the contract.
Noemie stared at it. Her fingers refused to move. "This..... this is a maid contract. You're selling me off to some company as property. How is this even legal?"
"Everything is legal when no one's watching," the principal replied. "You've already lost your reputation, Noemie. The media will eat you alive the moment I send one email. This is the only path left if you want to survive quietly."
Noemie sobbed, then, her spirit cracking like a mirror dropped from a great height. She grabbed the pen with unsteady fingers.
"Good girl," the principal whispered.
Just as Noemie began to sign, the principal tilted her head and added sweetly, "Oh, and don't worry. I won't tell anyone about the incident. Not yet. That way, your transition can be... smooth."
Noemie signed.
Elsewhere, in the towering solitude of a sprawling estate, Matteo stepped into the grand entrance of his house. The lights flickered on automatically, revealing polished floors, expensive furniture, and a silence that clung to the walls like dust.
He loosened his tie and threw it to the ground, his jaw clenched. His footsteps echoed through the emptiness as he moved to the bathroom.
Steam billowed as he stepped into the shower. The heat didn't comfort him. Instead, it made his anger boil. He pressed both hands against the marble wall and slammed a fist into it. "How the hell is their design the same as mine?!" he shouted, water running down his face like sweat.
Rage pulsed through him.....not just at the aesthetic similarity, but the implication of it. A challenge. A mimicry. A threat.
Dripping, still fuming, he stormed out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and grabbed his phone.
"Ladina," he barked.
"Sir?"
"Send Eliane and Annelise to my room. Now."
There was a pause on the line. When she responded, her voice was tight. "Understood."
Ladina's heels clicked sharply down the hallway. Her expression was cold, her eyes simmering with resentment. When she reached the door to Annelise's room, she didn't bother to knock.
She pushed it open—and stopped.
Inside, Eliane was gently drying Annelise's hair with a towel. The soft hum of a hair dryer buzzed nearby. Both women were in their undergarments, scars and bruises still visible, though fading. The room was filled with an intimate silence of fragile recovery.
Annelise looked up, startled, clutching the towel around her. Eliane's eyes narrowed.
Ladina stood at the threshold, her hands clenched into fists. "Matteo wants you both in his room."
There was no explanation. Just the command.
Annelise stood slowly. Eliane placed a hand on her arm, but Annelise gave a small nod. "We knew it wouldn't last," she whispered.
They dressed in silence, the moment of peace shattered like thin glass.