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293words2026-01-27 09:13

It was my sixth year playing the half-wit by Cyrus Thorne’s side.
In that time, he has cycled through eleven girlfriends.
"Mr. Thorne, this little idiot is truly devoted to you," his associates would often jeer.

"You’ve paraded all these women in front of her, left a trail of bodies in your wake, and she still clings to you like a shadow. You just can't shake her off."
Whenever his friends teased him like that, he would give me an indifferent glance.
"Yeah," he’d say. "She’s a leech."
I never got angry, just kept offering him that same foolish smile.
Whether I was a leech to him didn’t matter. What mattered was whether he was my Distinguished Service Cross.
I knew the answer.

I was hauled out of the black water of the estate’s pool and dragged directly in front of Cyrus Thorne.
"A total moron," a man spat.
"Can’t swim, got caught, yet still dove headfirst into the pool. You that desperate to see Mr. Thorne?"
Someone grabbed me by the hair, forcing my face up. Choking on water, I couldn't stop coughing..

The woman leaning against Cyrus was admiring her long nails, flashing me a mocking smile.
Cyrus ignored her, even as she draped herself over him like a silk scarf.
He didn't even bother to waste a look of disgust on me.
"Do whatever you want with her," he said.
He finished assembling the customized handgun in his hands and tossed the words out casually.
The woman stood up quickly, tucking her arm into his as they walked away.
"Honestly, Cyrus, she’s not smarter than a stray dog," her shrill laughter echoed in the hall. "She can be your little pet."
That coy laughter drifted into my ears, completely unabashed.