Page 14 of Promise of Punishment

When she’s done, I ask again. “Why were we kicked out? I don’t understand.”

She doesn’t look at me as if she can’t. Her sad gaze focuses on the long, lonely road surrounded by countryside. “Wesley Hale, the son of the Earl, says you kept him trapped in a garden on the property when he was hurt instead of getting help.”

The bags slip from my hands, landing with a loud thump. “That’s not true. I would never do that. Why would I do that, Mom? You know I wouldn’t.”

She hugs her arms around her chest. “It doesn’t matter. It’s what they believe.”

“Who? Did Wesley say this? Did you see him?”

“His father told me. Apparently, his son was so severely injured he’s in the hospital and will remain there for some time. Had you got him the help he needed, his condition wouldn’t be as bad as it is. They fear for his life.”

Oh god. Was he worse than he let on? Did I miss an injury, or did something new happen after I left? Did his friend even rescue him?

“This doesn’t make sense.”

Finally, she looks at me, eyes guarded. “Did you know him?”

“No,” I answer honestly. I didn’t know who he was.

“Did you find someone hurt in that abandoned garden? I know you go there, Fable. Tell me the truth.”

I hate lying to her, but continuing to do so won’t protect us anymore. My gaze locks on the largest trash bag near my feet until it blurs. I whisper, “I didn’t know who he was.”

Mom lets out a pained breath that borders on a sob.

My head jerks up. “I didn’t do anything to hurt him, I swear. I helped him. He was savagely beaten. I didn’t know who he was. I swear all I did was help him. I tried calling for help, but he stopped me. He made me promise not to tell anyone he was there. He said no one could know.”

Her eyes squeeze tighter, and she shakes her head, looking even more upset. “How many times have I told you not to trust the rich? You know from your dad and his family how different people with this kind of wealth are. The noble class are even worse.”

I take her free hand, tears blurring my vision, as I grapple to make this right and make her understand. “Please, Mom. You have to believe me. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t. I helped him, that’s all.”

She opens her eyes and meets my gaze. “Whatever you thought you did cost us this job and the protection of living an ocean away from your father.”

My stomach twists with sick knots. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve been ordered to leave Dorset, and my work visa is being revoked.”

“No!” I glance at the manor in the distance. How could the young man who seemed so grateful and understanding do this to us? Was it all a game? A lie? Is this family so messed up this is what they do to innocent people? Mom was right. After everything that happened to us with Dad’s family, I should know better. Anyone beneath the blue bloods is just a pawn. The help is always expendable, even if they marry into the family.

A big part of me can’t believe this is happening, as if I’m sleeping and when I wake up tomorrow, Mom will still be a housekeeper, and we’ll still live in our apartment here—because this can’t be real.

“I’m so sorry, Mom. What can I do? There has to be something I can do.”

She doesn’t look at me, just stares down the road again. “I think you’ve done enough.”

I glare at the historical manor and the evil family who live inside. Afternoon sunlight gleams across the windows as if nothing has happened, as if the family inside didn’t just destroy our lives.

Anger swallows my heartache for Mom—for us. I hate myself for believing I was doing something good to help Wesley. I hate myself for being so naive. How could I have known that one small act of kindness would cost us everything?

Mostly, I hate Wesley for painting me as the villain and for lying about me when all I did was try to help. And I did help him. In return, he ruined my mom’s life.

He had to have known she would be fired. He knows how dangerous my dad is and why we came here, and yet he lied about me to his father. Maybe to protect himself from getting in trouble in a way I wouldn’t understand. Whatever his reason, it was a selfish, heartless act—one I can never forgive.

I wish I could see him again just so I could spit in his face.

6

LOSE MY SHIT IN A MURDEROUS WAY