Chapter 3

Grace Gardner's POV

The night I hid the evidence, I lay awake in the darkness until dawn.

I was clearly aware that if I wanted to escape this hellhole, evidence alone was not enough. I had to have money I could control myself.

But this was an impossible dead end.

Because in the Foster family, I did not even have the freedom to buy a packet of salt.

Every month, all of my living expenses had to be attached to receipts, reviewed by the butler, and then reported to Mrs. Foster.

Once, I took four extra bags of salt at the supermarket, and Mrs. Foster’s voice message smashed into my phone that same night like a death summons:

“Why did you buy so much salt? Didn’t you just buy some last month? Mom isn’t trying to control you, but even if it’s only two dollars, as an outsider, you should still know your place.”

If I wanted to break free from this humiliation, I had to go out and work.

The next day, I went behind the Foster family’s backs and interviewed at a company.

I passed both the written test and the interview, but when HR handed me the onboarding form and saw Zachary Foster’s name filled in under the spouse section, their expression changed immediately.

“Ms. Gardner, I’m sorry. According to policy, because of your identity, you need Mr. Foster’s personal signature and consent before you can be employed.”

I froze where I stood. I did not argue. I got up and left that building.

The fluorescent lights in the corridor made my eyes sting.

I did not even have the right to want independence.

At dinner, Mrs. Foster was not there. For once, it was only Zachary and me.

As if tossing me charity, Zachary said casually, “Next month, I’ll take you to the annex villa for two days. I’ll talk to my mother.”

My motion of eating paused.

Borrowing this last faint trace of warmth between husband and wife, I spoke hoarsely. “Zachary, if I want to go out and work in the future, do you think that would be okay?”

Zachary put down his fork, his brows drawing together slightly. “This family doesn’t need the little bit of money you’d earn.”

“I just feel that staying home every day...”

“What?” He cut me off without mercy, his gaze filled with condescending scrutiny. “You don’t like your life now? Being Mrs. Foster is such a hardship for you?”

One question nailed me straight onto the pillar of shame labeled ungrateful.

Just as those words stabbed me so deeply that my whole body went cold, Mrs. Carter came over with a cold expression:

“Mrs. Foster said that since Grace still hasn’t paid off her debt, she is to go to the chapel tonight and keep vigil overnight. She’s the eldest daughter-in-law of the Foster household. She is to kneel there and reflect properly!”

Zachary was sitting on the living room sofa, the glow of his phone screen falling across his handsome face.

He heard every word clearly.

He knew perfectly well how hard the hardwood floor in the chapel was. He also knew perfectly well that I had a serious old injury in my knee, and that kneeling too long would leave me in unbearable agony.

But he did not even raise his head.

His finger even slid calmly across the screen again.

I looked steadily at him, then forced one word out to Mrs. Carter: “Okay.”

That night, I knelt on the chapel’s icy floor, the cold drilling from my knee into the cracks of my bones like knives.

In the latter half of the night, when I tried to stand, my left leg could no longer straighten at all.

I braced myself against the wall and dragged my body back to the bedroom step by step.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I clutched my knee, which hurt so badly it was spasming, and the last trace of light in my eyes went out completely.