I stare up at him with flamethrowers for eyes, wishing I could fucking strangle him right now. But I have to bite my tongue. If I can just do this one last thing, I’ll be done, and then I can get back to figuring out how the hell to get out of this place.

“I’m sorry you wound up with two black eyes.” I grit the words out as I glare up at Miriam. “I appreciate all that you do. The food, really, is top-notch. Michelin Star, I’d go as far as saying—”

“Mercedes.” Judge gives me a warning, but it’s cut off by his phone ringing.

He glances at the screen and then at me. “I have to take this. Don’t move.”

I watch him walk into the adjoining bedroom, where he’s still in view but out of earshot. Miriam’s lips curl into a wicked smile, and she cocks her head to the side, staring down at me as if she’s examining a bug.

“How did those words taste coming out of your mouth?”

I try to ignore her, but she’s not about to waste this opportunity.

“You know where you stand now. I’ve worked for this family for years, princess. He’s always going to take my word over yours.”

I clench my jaw, trying to contain myself. I know she’s goading me. She wants a reaction. But it doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

“If you think you mean anything to him, you’d be sadly mistaken.” She flicks her gaze to the other room, and I follow it, noting the way Judge is smiling at whoever is on the line.

“I’d venture a guess that’s probably his favorite courtesan. He’s been meeting with her every night since you’ve been here. I’ve never seen him take a liking to anyone the way he has to her. Who knows, maybe he’ll even marry her.”

“You’re a liar,” I hiss.

“Am I?” She shrugs. “Believe what you want. It makes no difference to me. I’m not the idiot who thinks he actually wants you here.”

Her words hurt me, and I know she knows it. When I don’t say anything, she takes it upon herself to keep poking that wound.

“I wonder how much your brother paid him,” she ponders aloud. “In my opinion, there’s not enough money in the world to make it worthwhile. How does it feel to know that men have to be paid just to tolerate your company? I suppose that makes you no different than a whore.”

“Screw you,” I snarl. “You don’t know anything about my life.”