# Chapter 52: The Weight of Andrew’s Game
Hello everyone, it’s me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review Chapter 52 of *The Housemaid*. This is one of those chapters that makes your skin crawl, your heart pound, and your mind race—because we are locked in that attic with Millie, and Andrew is playing his cruelest game yet. Let’s step inside that sweltering room and feel every agonizing second with her.
---
An hour had passed since Andrew stood at that door, smiling his false, gentlemanly smile. An hour since he left her locked in the attic, alone with a bucket, a pile of books, and the terrifying realization that she had no control over anything anymore.
Let’s be honest about that bucket. Millie didn’t want to talk about it, and honestly, who would? But the human body doesn’t care about pride. It reaches a point where survival overrides everything, and for Millie, that moment came crashing down on her like a wave. She used the bucket. It was degrading. It was humiliating. It was the sort of experience that chips away at your soul. But it was necessary.
After that indignity came a new ache—her stomach rumbled, sharp and demanding. She stumbled over to the mini-fridge, hoping for a yogurt, a snack, anything. But Andrew had cleaned it out. All that was left were three tiny bottles of water. In a moment of pure desperation, she chugged two of them. And immediately, she regretted it with every fiber of her being. What if he left her in there for hours? What if he left her for *days*? That final bottle might be the only thing standing between her and complete dehydration.
She pulled on her jeans and a fresh T-shirt, trying to gather herself, trying to think past the panic. And there, on the floor, lay the pile of books.
Andrew had told her to keep those books resting on her belly for three hours. Three hours. Then—and only then—would he let her out of the room. It was such a ridiculous, nonsensical game that Millie almost laughed. But she didn't have the luxury of pride or confusion. If she did what he asked, she would get out. And once she got out, she would get the hell away from this house forever.
So she stretched out on the bare floor. The attic was stuffy and unbearable—summer was beginning to turn the space into a furnace—but the floor itself was still cool against her back. She rested her head on the ground, picked up the thick textbook on prisons, and lowered it onto her belly.
Pressure. Heavy, but not unbearable. She thought of the bucket and was grateful she hadn’t tried this before taking care of that little problem, otherwise her jeans would be soaked by now.
Then she picked up the second book—the one on torture. The title wasn’t exactly a coincidence, was it? Or maybe it was. But the weight pressing down on her ribs told her otherwise. She lowered it onto the first.
Two books. Uncomfortable. The sharp edges of her shoulder blades and tailbone ground into the hard floor. It was unpleasant, but she could tolerate it.
But Andrew wanted all three.
The third book was the phonebook—thick, bulky, and impossibly heavy. Lifting it with two other books already crushing her abdomen took every ounce of her strength. She balanced it precariously on top of the pile, and then the full weight of all three slammed down on her torso.
It nearly knocked the breath out of her.
Her chest heaved. It was hard to inhale. The edges of the bottom book bit into her rib cage like a dull knife. Her body screamed in protest.
No. She couldn't do it. She *couldn't*.
In a sudden burst of frustration, she shoved all three books off her body and gasped, sucking in air with ragged, desperate breaths. Her shoulders trembled. How could anyone expect her to keep those books balanced on her stomach for hours? This wasn't punishment. This was torture. Literally.
She got to her feet and began pacing the room like a caged animal, her mind spinning. No more games. She wasn't going to do this. There had to be a way out. There had to be a way to unscrew the door hinges, or the doorknob, or something. Andrew kept a toolkit somewhere downstairs in the garage, but that was a world away. Still, she had dresser drawers full of things—maybe there was something she could use as a makeshift screwdriver.
But before she could search, his voice returned.
"Millie?"
She rushed to the door, hope and fury tangled together in her chest. "I put the books on top of me. Please let me out."
"I told you three hours. You only did it for about a minute."
Something inside her snapped. "Let. Me. Out. Now."
"Or else what?" He laughed, and the sound was so casual, so *normal*, it made her skin crawl. "I told you what you need to do."
"I'm not doing it."
"Fine. Then you can stay locked in there."
"So you'll let me die in here?" she screamed.
"You're not going to die. When the water runs out, you'll realize what you have to do."
And then his footsteps faded, and all she could hear was the sound of her own screams.
---
Two hours and fifty minutes later, Millie lay on that cold, hard floor with all three books pressing down on her swollen abdomen.
Andrew had been right. As soon as the third bottle of water was drained, her desperation had skyrocketed. Fantasies of waterfalls danced behind her eyes. Her throat was dry. Her lips cracked. And in that moment of absolute misery, she knew she had to complete the task. There was no guarantee he would keep his word, but she had no other choice.
The books were awful. Absolutely awful. There were moments when she thought her pelvis was going to crack under the weight. She wanted to scream, to shove them off, to give up. But she took shallow, painful breaths and held on. Ninety seconds more. Sixty. Thirty.
When the three-hour mark finally arrived, Millie shoved the books off her body in a massive, trembling wave of relief. But when she tried to sit up, her abdomen burned so badly that tears leaked from her eyes. She knew there would be bruises left behind. Deep, ugly bruises that would match the ones on her soul.
Still, she pushed herself to the door and pounded her fists against it. "I did it!" she yelled. "I'm done! Let me out of here!"
But of course, no one came.
Andrew could see her, probably, but she couldn't see him. Was he in the house? At work? Out running errands like a normal man while she rotted in his attic? She had no idea. He knew exactly where she was, but she didn't have the grace of the same knowledge.
That bastard.
Another hour crawled by. Millie was dizzy now, dehydrated to the point where even breathing felt heavy. And then, finally, she heard footsteps outside the door.
"Millie?"
Tears of relief burned her eyes. She had never been claustrophobic before this experience, but now she wasn't sure if she would ever ride an elevator again. "I did it, you asshole," she spat at the door. "Now let me out."
"Hmm." His voice was infuriatingly relaxed. "I'm afraid I can't do that."
"But you promised! You said if I kept the books on my belly for three hours, you would let me out."
"Right. But here's the thing. You pushed them off a minute too early. So I'm afraid you'll have to start over."
Millie's eyes flew open. If there was ever a moment she would have transformed into the Incredible Hulk, it was this one. She wanted to rip the door off its hinges and wrap her hands around his throat. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I'm so sorry. But these are the rules."
"But—" she sputtered, choking on her own disbelief. "I don't have any water left."
"That's a shame," he sighed. "Next time, you'll have to learn to conserve your water."
"Next time?" She kicked the door. "Are you out of your mind? There's not going to be a next time."
"Actually, I think there will be," he said thoughtfully. "You're on parole, right? If you were to take something from our house—and I'm sure Nina would back me up on that—where do you think you would end up? One offense and you're right back in jail! Whereas you only have to stay in this room for a day or two every once in a while if you misbehave. I think this is a much better deal, don't you?"
Oh, *this*—this was the moment she would have turned into the Hulk.
"So," Andrew continued, his voice dripping with false kindness, "I would get back to work. Because soon you're going to get pretty thirsty."
---
This time, Millie waited three hours and ten minutes.
She refused to give him any excuse to say she needed to do it a third time. That would kill her. Her belly felt like someone had been using it as a punching bag for hours. The pain was so overwhelming that she couldn't even sit up at first. She had to roll onto her side, push herself upright with her arms, and crawl over to the cot. Her head pounded from lack of water, and her body trembled with exhaustion.
She sat there, waiting, listening for his footsteps.
Half an hour later, his voice came through the door again. "Millie?"
"I did it," she whispered, barely able to speak. She couldn't even stand up.
"I saw you." There was a proud, patronizing edge to his voice. "Excellent job."
And then came the most beautiful sound she had ever heard in her entire life: the click of the door unlocking.
It was even better than the sound of her prison cell opening on the day she got out. The door swung open, and Andrew stepped in, clutching a glass of water in his hand. He offered it to her, and for a fleeting moment, the thought crossed her mind that he might have drugged it. But she didn't care. She didn't care at all. She gulped it down in one long, desperate swallow.
He sat down beside her on the cot, sliding a hand onto the small of her back. She cringed but didn't pull away.
"How are you doing?"
"My belly hurts."
He tilted his head, almost pityingly. "I'm sorry."
"Are you?"
"You do have to be taught a lesson when you do something wrong—it's the only way you'll learn." His lips twitched. "If you had done it right the first time, I wouldn't have had to ask you to do it again."
Millie looked up at him, studying those handsome, familiar features. She couldn't believe she had fallen in love with this man. He had seemed so nice, so normal, so wonderful. Not once had she guessed that beneath that face beat the heart of a monster. His goal wasn't to marry her. His goal was to make her his prisoner.
"How could you tell exactly how long I was doing it?" she asked, her voice hollow. "You can't possibly be able to see that well."
"On the contrary."
He pulled out his phone and opened an app. A crisp, full-color image of her room filled the screen. And there, in incredible resolution, she could see the two of them—pale, hunched, defeated—sitting together on the cot. It was like watching a movie. His movie. Her nightmare.
"Isn't that a great image? Like a film."
That bastard.
He had watched her suffer. The entire day. Every agonizing minute. And he had every intention of doing this to her again. Next time it would be longer. Next time it would be worse. God only knew what he would make her do next.
But Millie had already been a prisoner once before. She would not—*would not*—let it happen again. No way.
Slowly, deliberately, she reached into the pocket of her jeans.
And she pulled out the bottle of pepper spray she had found in the bucket.
---
### Reader’s Impressions & Star Rating
Oh, this chapter was a gut punch—literally and emotionally. Millie goes through unimaginable degradation and pain, and what makes it so chilling is how Andrew manipulates her with fake politeness and careful rules. The moment he shows her the camera feed on his phone was absolute horror. He was watching her suffer the entire time, and he *enjoyed* it. This chapter is intense, claustrophobic, and brilliantly written. I spent the whole time rooting for Millie, and when she pulled out that pepper spray at the end, I nearly cheered. What a perfect setup for a fierce turning point.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.9 / 5 Stars
### Next Chapter Prediction
Everything is about to explode. Millie has pepper spray in her hand, and Andrew is sitting right beside her, vulnerable for the first time. My prediction is that she will finally fight back—an aggressive, desperate, and satisfying attack. But this is Andrew we're talking about, and he's always prepared. There’s a real chance that her escape attempt will be interrupted, or worse, that Nina will walk in at the worst possible moment. Either way, the tables are turning, and Millie is done playing by his rules.
To listen free the next reviews chatpers, please access website novelsaudio.com and search keyword: The Housemaid or click the link in the description of this video or if you want to listen or read full the The Housemaid please access website novelsaudio.com