Chapter 3

Chapter 3 A cold emptiness washed over my wandering soul. Garrett led Gemma to the back seat without another word.

This had been our routine for the past three years. My body acted as their quiet, invisible chauffeur, driving Garrett and Gemma to fancy couple retreats and candlelit dinners.

He never cared what I thought. To him, I wasn't even human.

When we arrived at the villa, Gemma naturally took the lead, slipping off her designer coat and tossing it into my arms.

Ever since she moved in a week ago, my body had been demoted to her personal live-in maid, waiting on her hand and foot.

Because of the severe injuries, my movements were noticeably sluggish, and I was a second too slow bringing out her house slippers.

Gemma instantly let out a dramatic gasp.

"Garrett, maybe I should just move out after all. Nora clearly despises me."

She pointed at the fresh bloodstains on her coat, looking profoundly wounded. Without asking a single question, Garrett struck my cheek with a brutal backhand.

"Can't you even wash a coat before touching her stuff? You are completely useless! Don't you know Gemma is an honored guest in this house?"

So he did remember that I was the actual homeowner. Yet what kind of guest treated the lady of the house like a slave?

Or perhaps, humiliating me was the only thing that brought him joy.

After absorbing the slap, my body showed zero emotional reaction. It obediently turned toward the bathroom to clean off the blood.

Garrett grabbed my arm roughly, pointing toward the hallway first-aid kit.

"Patch yourself up after you wash off. Don't walk around looking like a freak in front of me."

The disgust in his tone was unmistakable. My body simply nodded, picked up the first-aid kit, and walked away.

From beginning to end, there was no pushback, no tearful plea, and no resentment. Gemma rested her head on his shoulder and let out a soft, mocking chuckle.

"You really know how to train a woman, Garrett. Look at her now. She doesn't even resemble the arrogant Nora from before."

"It's all an act," Garrett scoffed, pulling Gemma into his lap on the couch. "Knowing how petty and neurotic she is, let's see how long she can keep up this little silent treatment."

He genuinely believed my lack of emotion was just a new manipulation tactic. After all, I used to love him so fiercely that the smallest betrayal would spark an all-out war.

He refused to believe I truly stopped caring. He thought I was just playing hard to get.

At dinner, my body stood silently by the dining table with a thick bandage wrapped around its head, waiting to serve them.

This was Garrett's personal rule. The day Gemma moved in, he had kicked my dining chair across the room with a sneer.

"Can't you see we have company? Who said you could eat at the table? Serve Gemma first, then go eat the scraps in the kitchen."

My body had silently picked up the chair, set it aside, and taken its place beside Gemma, serving her dishes while enduring her constant jabs.

"Nora's service is amazing," Gemma mused, swirling her wine. "Better than the staff at five-star restaurants. I guess some people are just born to serve others."

She was clearly calling me a born servant. Garrett caught the insult and burst into amused laughter.

Nothing delighted him more than watching me get degraded, especially by the woman he claimed to cherish most.

Perhaps to punish me further, Garrett made things extra difficult tonight. He deliberately ordered me to reach for dishes placed far across the wide table, laughing as my dislocated joints strained and popped.

Gemma suddenly stood up and dragged my arm, pushing me toward a chair.

"Nora, that's enough. You are hurt, you need to sit down and eat something."

Because it hadn't received Garrett's direct permission, my body frantically struggled to stand back up. Garrett slammed his silverware onto the mahogany table, his face darkening.

"If she loves acting like a slave, let her do it! Stop wasting your sympathy on her, Gemma. She is a born groveler who gets off on begging for scraps."

If I had been alive, I would have thrown the scalding soup right in his face. But the shell merely looked up, wore a blank smile, and nodded at him.