The Driver’S Daughter
18+
fl dad
The iron gates of the Rossell estate creaked open, admitting a rusted sedan that looked like a scar on the pristine white driveway. Aina sat in the passenger seat, her hands trembling in her lap. Her father, Jordi Soler, gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.
fl dad
Just keep your head down, Aina," Jordi whispered. "Mr. Rossell is a powerful man, but he expects perfection. This job... it’s the only way we pay off the debts
Aina(fl)
"I know, Papa," Aina whispered, her voice barely audible over the mountain wind.
They stood in the grand foyer, surrounded by marble and the cold scent of pine. Andreu Rossell, the patriarch of the wealthiest family in Andorra, looked down at them from the staircase. Beside him stood his son, Marc—the star of the national hockey scene, a man whose face was on every billboard from Andorra la Vella to Canillo.
Marc didn't look at her. He was busy scrolling through his phone, his frame massive and intimidating even in a casual sweater.
ml dad
She’s young, Jordi," Andreu remarked, his voice echoing. "Can she handle the labor?"
fl dad
She’s hardworking, sir," Jordi pleaded. "Please. She’ll do anything."
ml dad
Andreu knotted his brow and nodded slowly. "Very well. She starts tonight. Take her to the servants' quarters.
As Aina followed her father, she felt a pair of eyes on her back. She turned slightly. Marc was looking at her now, but there was no kindness in his gaze. It was the way a hunter looked at a stray cat—something to be toyed with, then discarded.
The first month was a blur of pain. The other maids, jealous of Aina’s youth, gave her the hardest tasks. They made her scrub the outdoor stone steps in the freezing Pyrenean air until her fingers bled.
...
You think you’re special because your father drives the boss?" the head maid, Sofia, hissed, pushing a bucket of ice water toward her. "You’re nothing. Clean it again."
Aina said nothing. She was weak, she was tired, and she felt like a ghost in the house.
Then came the night of the storm. Aina was cornered in the pantry by the chef’s assistants, who were mocking her tattered uniform.
The voice was like a whip. Marc stood in the doorway. The assistants immediately scattered. He walked toward Aina, who was shaking, her eyes downcast.
Marc(ml)
Get up," Marc said. He reached out, his hand surprisingly warm as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't let them do that. You belong to this house now."
For the first time, Aina felt a spark of hope. She thought he cared. She was wrong.
Two nights later, the hope turned into a nightmare. Marc called her to his private wing under the guise of needing late-night service. When she entered, the room was dim, smelling of expensive bourbon and sweat.
He didn't speak. He simply locked the door.
Marc grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the bed. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a printed photograph—it was a socialite he had been chasing for months. He pinned the photo to the pillow, forcing Aina’s head down next to it.
Marc(ml)
Don't look at me," he growled. "Just stay still."
Aina(fl)
Ah! Uh... Marc... stop... no, please.
Marc(ml)
(Voice low and cold) Shut up. Just be quiet and do what you’re told.
Aina(fl)
Mmm... ah... please... it hurts... ah... hnn...
Marc(ml)
(Harder, his voice strained) You should be grateful. At least someone is touching you.
Aina(fl)
Marc... no... ah... uh... hnh...
He didn't look at her face once. He kept his eyes locked on the photo of the other woman, his hands bruising Aina’s skin. Every time she tried to cry out his name, he would press her face harder into the mattress.
Marc(ml)
Stop saying my name. You’re not her. You’re nothing.
Aina(fl)
(Sobbing) Ah... ah... hnn... stop... it hurts...
Marc(ml)
(Breathless) Almost... hnh... stay still...
When it was over, he didn't hold her. He didn't even look at her. He stood up, adjusted his clothes, and walked to the window to light a cigarette.
Marc(ml)
Get out. And take that cloth with you. I don't want a mess in my room.
Aina lay there, her body aching, her soul crushed. She reached out and picked up the white linen sheet that was now stained with her blood—the proof of what he had taken. She held it to her chest, her eyes vacant and numb.
Aina(fl)
(Whispering) Do you... do you want me to come back tomorrow?
Marc(ml)
(Laughing coldly without turning around) Why would I care? Just make sure my hockey gear is cleaned by six. Now, move. You’re hovering.
Aina stumbled out of the room, clutching the bloodied cloth like a doll. She walked down the dark hallway of the mansion, a broken girl in a house of stone, realizing that his "protection" was just a different kind of cage.
leaving
The three-year mark in Andorra didn't bring a change of seasons; it only brought a deeper, more permanent kind of winter into Aina’s soul. For thirty-six months, she had lived as Marc Rossell’s shadow—a secret kept in the dark corners of his bedroom, a convenience he used to satisfy his urges while his heart remained anchored to a woman who didn't even live in the country.
The "protection" he gave her wasn't safety; it was a cage. He shielded her from the other maids' physical bullying only so he could be the one to break her.
The morning started with a shattering of glass. Aina had been summoned to Andreu Rossell’s study. Her father, Jordi, was already there, kneeling on the rug, his face bruised.
ml dad
You've been hovering around my son's wing too much, Aina," Andreu hissed,
His voice like grinding stones. He didn't know the truth—he didn't know his star-athlete son spent his nights degrading the driver's daughter. He only saw a girl he deemed "filthy" trying to climb the social ladder.
ml dad
You’re a distraction. A little slut trying to catch a windfall. My son is the face of this nation, and you’re a stain on his floor.
fl dad
(Sobbing) Sir, please... she’s a good girl... she works hard...
Andreu kicked Jordi’s shoulder, sending the old man sprawling. Aina’s breath hitched, her eyes wide and numb.
ml dad
I’m done with the Soler family. Take this.
He threw a thick envelope of Euros at her feet. The paper burst, bills scattering like dead leaves across the marble.
ml dad
Take the money and get out of Andorra. If I see you or your pathetic father near this estate again, I’ll ensure he never walks, let alone drives, again.
Aina looked at her father’s broken form, then at the man who had fed them only to starve their spirits. A flicker of something—not strength, but a final, dying spark of dignity—lit up in her chest. She reached down, gathered a handful of the bills, and stood up.
Aina(fl)
You think this buys my silence? You think this makes up for the skin you’ve torn off my father’s back?
ml dad
It’s more than you’re worth.
Aina threw the money into the air. The bills fluttered around Andreu’s head like mocking birds.
Aina(fl)
Keep it. Use it to buy a conscience. We’re leaving, but not because of your money. We’re leaving because this house smells like a grave.
Aina ran toward the servants' quarters to pack her few belongings, but she realized she had left her mother's locket—the only thing she truly owned—in Marc’s room. She had dropped it during one of those nights where he had treated her like a doll.
She entered his wing through the back servant's door. The sound of splashing water came from the master bathroom. The door was ajar.
She froze. Marc was in the bathtub, the water steaming. He wasn't bathing. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back, his hand moving with a desperate, frantic energy.
Marc(ml)
(Gasping) Chloe... ah... Chloe... stay right there... mmm...
He was whispering his crush's name, his face contorted in a mask of longing that he had never once shown Aina. Even in his most private moment of release, he was imagining a woman who wouldn't touch him, while the girl who had given him everything stood shivering five feet away.
His phone on the marble counter rang. He answered it on speaker, not even stopping his movements. It was his teammate, Lucas.
...
Hey, Marc! Big news. Chloe just landed at the airport. She’s coming to the estate for the weekend."
Marc(ml)
Finally. I’ve been... ah... waiting for this for three years.
...
What about that little mouse? The driver's daughter? Aina, right? You’ve been keeping her pretty close. Won't she be in the way?"
Marc(ml)
Marc let out a harsh, jagged laugh. He didn't even pause to think.
Marc(ml)
Aina? You mean the maid? (He groaned, reaching his peak) She’s just a toy, Lucas. A placeholder. Who cares about a maid? She’s a convenience, like a vending machine. I’ll have the guards throw her out with the trash before Chloe’s car hits the driveway.
The phone clicked off. Marc sank back into the water, his eyes still closed, a satisfied smirk on his lips.
Aina stood in the doorway, her hand over her mouth. The word toy echoed in her ears, louder than the mountain wind outside. She didn't find the locket. She didn't care anymore.
She backed out of the room, her movements robotic. She found her father by the gate, leaning on a cane, his few belongings in a plastic bag.
fl dad
Aina? Did you get your things?"
Aina(fl)
(Her eyes vacant, her voice a hollow whisper) I don't have any things, Papa. Everything I had... he already broke it.
Aina looked back at the towering stone walls of the Rossell mansion. Somewhere inside, Marc was probably dressing in his finest suit to meet the "real" woman of his dreams.
Aina(fl)
Anywhere the snow doesn't hide the truth. Let’s go.
As they walked down the long, winding road toward the border of Spain, Aina didn't cry. She was simply numb. She was the driver’s daughter, and for the first time in three years, she was driving her own life—even if she had to start it from the wreckage.
insult
The grand halls of the University of Andorra smelled of old books and the sharp scent of the mountain air. Aina walked with her head down, her fingers trembling as she reached for the envelope she had left on Marc’s desk in the athlete’s study hall. It contained her secret life—her acceptance letters and the research documents from the international center that was her only ticket out of this nightmare.
She grabbed the papers, but before she could turn to leave, the heavy oak doors swung open. Marc walked in, his hockey bag slung over one massive shoulder, still radiating the adrenaline of the morning’s practice.
Marc(ml)
(His voice sharp, echoing) Where were you, Aina? I looked for you in the stands during the scrimmage. You’re supposed to be there to handle my gear after the whistle.
Aina(fl)
(Lying quickly, her voice a hollow whisper) I... I was finishing the laundry for your father, Marc. I couldn’t leave the estate in time.
Marc(ml)
(Stepping closer, his shadow looming over her) Don’t lie to me. You’re becoming lazy. Three years of my protection, and you’re already forgetting who you belong to? You’re a servant, Aina. Start acting like one before I tell my father to dock your pay again.
Aina didn't look up. She clutched her research papers tighter against her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs. Just a few more weeks, she thought. Just a few more weeks until I am Dr. Aina Soler, and this room is nothing but a bad dream.
Suddenly, the hallway outside erupted in whispers and excitement. The doors opened again, and the air in the room seemed to change, becoming thick with the scent of expensive French perfume.
It was Chloe.
She was radiant, her hair like spun gold and her eyes reflecting the mountain light. She wore a designer coat that cost more than Aina’s father made in a year. Students in the hallway were literally stopping to stare, murmuring about her beauty.
Marc froze. His jaw dropped, and the cold, arrogant anger he had just directed at Aina vanished instantly. He looked mesmerized, like a man seeing a goddess for the first time in years
chloe
(Smiling brightly, her voice like honey) Hello, everyone! Marc... it’s been too long.
Marc(ml)
(Completely breathless) Chloe. You’re... you’re here. You look incredible
Chloe glided into the room, her eyes scanning the space until they landed on the small, shivering figure of Aina standing by the desk.
chloe
(Tilting her head curiously) Oh, Marc? Who is this girl? Is she a student here too?
Marc didn't even look at Aina. He paused for a second, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to remember a trivial fact from a textbook he had discarded years ago.
Marc(ml)
(With a dismissive shrug) Oh... I almost forgot. This is just my father's driver's daughter. Aina. She helps out around the house.
chloe
(A fake, sweet smile spreading across her face) Oh! A servant! Well, you are actually quite cute, in a tragic sort of way. We’re all going to the university café for a celebratory lunch. Why don’t you come along? It’s better than eating in the kitchen, isn't it?
Aina(fl)
(Feeling the sting of the insult, her voice cold) No, thank you. I have... work to do. I will pass.
The room went silent. Marc’s eyes snapped toward Aina, his face reddening with embarrassment and fury. How dare a servant refuse a guest in front of his peers?
Marc(ml)
(His voice a low, dangerous growl) Aina. Don’t be rude. Chloe is being kind to you. You’re coming with us. Put those papers down and move. Now.
Aina looked at Marc—really looked at him—and saw the hollowness behind his famous face. She thought about the call she had received that morning from the Biological Research Center. Her internship was confirmed. Her visa was ready. Soon, she would be specialized in pathology, a doctor who understood the science of disease—and she realized Marc was exactly that: a disease she was finally curing herself of.
Aina(fl)
(Quietly, to herself) I won’t be in the kitchen much longer.
Marc(ml)
What did you say?
Aina(fl)
(Aloud, her eyes vacant) Nothing. Let's go.
As she followed them out, walking three paces behind Chloe and Marc like a ghost, Aina felt a strange sense of peace. Marc was mesmerized by the gold on the surface, never realizing that the "toy" he had broken was about to become someone the world would actually respect. She would cut herself out of his world, leave the bloodied cloths and the "vending machine" insults behind, and disappear into a life where her name actually meant something.
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