# Chapter 23: The Prisoner’s Confession
Hello everyone, it’s me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review Chapter 23 of "The Housemaid's Secret". This is one of those chapters where the walls start to close in, the secrets begin to crack open, and we finally see the terrified woman behind the locked door for who she really is. So grab your favorite drink and settle in, because this chapter is a rollercoaster of tension and heartbreak.
I had just hung up Douglas’s suits when my mind drifted—not to the clothes, not to the house, but to her. The woman locked away in the guest bedroom. The woman whose blood I had scrubbed from the carpet. The woman who was suffering in silence while the world outside went on as if nothing was wrong. I couldn’t let it go. I told myself that today, no matter what happened, I was going to talk to Wendy.
The hallway lights were still dead. Douglas always said it was some old wiring problem, but in all the time I had worked there, those lights never seemed worth fixing. Combined with the ancient, creaking architecture, the second floor had an eerie, haunted feeling. It was like the house itself was keeping secrets.
When I reached Wendy’s door, I paused. The carpet beneath my feet was spotless now—I had scrubbed away every trace of the blood with hydrogen peroxide. There was no sign left of that terrible night. And Douglas had no idea that I knew.
I lifted my hand to knock, and a chill shot through me. Wendy’s warning from last time echoed inside my skull like a ghost: *"If you know what's good for you, you need to close this door and get out of here."* But I swallowed my fear. I never walk away. Not from women who need help. Not from monsters who think they can get away with everything. I knocked hard on the door.
To my surprise, I heard footsteps. A moment later, the door cracked open, and I found myself staring once again into Wendy’s bruised face. She looked better than she had a few days ago, but the pain was still written in her eyes. She was wearing a pale yellow nightgown, and thank God, it didn’t have any blood on it this time.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "I was trying to sleep."
I tried to ease into the conversation. I told her her nightgown was pretty and that I always slept in an old Mets T-shirt. But she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. She knew I hadn’t woken her up for compliments.
"The truth is, I need to ask you something," I said. "I want to know how you got my number."
Wendy shifted nervously on her feet, and I noticed for the first time how terribly thin she was. Her collarbones jutted out sharply, and when she pulled at her nightgown, I could see the outline of every bone in her hand. Her blue-veined fingers trembled as she toyed with her auburn hair. A bracelet dangled from her wrist—the one Douglas had given her recently, the one he had shown off to me with such pride.
She tried to dodge my question. "You placed an ad, didn’t you? That must be how I got it." A long sigh escaped her lips, and she made to close the door.
But I wasn’t letting her escape that easily. "Actually," I said, "I found out the ad never went live. So how did you get my number?"
I watched her brain churn, searching for a lie. But I cut her off before she could spin one. "Tell me the truth."
Wendy dropped her eyes. "Please. I don’t want to do this. Just leave it alone."
"Tell me," I said through my teeth.
She threw up her hands in defeat. "Fine. I got your number from Ginger Howell."
That name hit me like a punch to the gut. Ginger Howell. I hadn't seen her in years—two years, to be exact. She was one of the last women I helped before Enzo took off for Italy. Ginger’s husband was a monster, a true terror, but we found her a lawyer willing to work on a contingency basis. We fought tooth and nail, and eventually, after a long battle, we got her free. She was a nice person. She didn’t deserve any of what her husband did to her.
But if Wendy had heard about me from Ginger, that meant Wendy had deliberately sought me out. That meant this wasn’t a coincidence. She wanted me here.
"Why did you tell Douglas to call me, Wendy?" I demanded. "And I need the real reason."
She still wouldn’t look at me. Her voice was barely a whisper. "I think you know why."
A dull ringing echoed in the back of my mind. I had suspected from the moment I walked into this house that something was deeply wrong. But every time I tried to reach out to Wendy, she had pushed me away. Now the truth was finally spilling out.
"I broke my wrist," she said, her voice bitter. "He pushed me down and it broke. But when I saw the doctor, he wouldn’t leave the room. I had to tell them I slipped on ice and fell. That’s the only reason he let me get some help for the house—he never allows anyone else in here otherwise."
My hands balled into fists. "Why didn’t you say anything?"
"Because it was a stupid idea to bring you here." Her bloodshot eyes filled with tears. "I was desperate, but once I saw you, I knew I couldn’t go through with it. You don’t know Douglas. You don’t know what he’s like. Getting away from him is not an option."
I shook my head. "You’re wrong."
She laughed—a bitter, acid-filled laugh. "You have no idea what you’re talking about. Douglas is everywhere. He sees everything."
I thought about all those moments on the street when I felt like someone was watching me. "Does he see us right now? Is he listening to this conversation?"
Wendy’s eyes darted nervously around the hallway. "I... I don’t know. I haven't been able to find any cameras in the house, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. Douglas has access to technology that we can’t imagine. He’s a genius, you know." Her laugh turned sad. "I used to find that attractive about him."
"It’s still worth trying," I said.
But Wendy shook her head, color rising to her bruised cheeks. "You don’t understand. He would spend every penny he has to track me down."
And she was right. Douglas had a lot of pennies. I knew escaping a man like him would be terrifying and dangerous, and I didn’t have the resources Enzo had. I didn’t have a "guy" for everything anymore. I had sworn off that life, promised myself I would get my degree and help women legally. But standing there, looking at Wendy’s shattered face, every molecule in my body screamed that I couldn’t walk away. I could never walk past a woman being destroyed right in front of me.
"Do you have any money?" I asked. "Cash?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "I’ve been slowly selling off some of my jewelry. I’ve got so much of it—every time he hits me, he buys me something new and expensive. I’ve got some money tucked away where I don’t think he’ll find it. It won’t last long, but maybe enough."
"Do you have any friends who can help you? Friends that he doesn’t know about?"
"Please stop," she croaked. "You don’t understand. Douglas is extremely dangerous. You cannot underestimate this man. If you try to help me, it won't work... and you'll be sorry. Trust me."
"But Wendy—"
"I can’t do it, okay?"
She looked down at the bracelet on her left wrist—the same one Douglas had shown me with pride. A wild look came into her eyes, and she fumbled with the clasp until it slipped from her bony wrist.
"I hate the gifts he gives me," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "I can barely look at them, but he expects me to wear them."
She squeezed the bracelet in her fist, then reached out and grabbed my hand. She pressed the bracelet into my palm. "Get this out of my sight. I can’t even look at it anymore. If he asks, I’ll tell him I lost it."
I opened my hand and examined the small bracelet. It was beautiful, expensive—probably stained with her blood. "I can’t take this, Wendy."
"Then throw it out," she spat. "I don’t want it in my house anymore. Especially after what he wrote on it."
I brought the bracelet closer to my face and read the tiny inscription:
**To W, You are mine forever, Love D**
"His forever," she said bitterly. "His property."
The message was unmistakable. To Douglas, Wendy wasn’t a wife. She was a possession.
"Please let me help you." I grabbed her wrist—forgetting that it might be the broken one. She winced, and I let go immediately. "I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m not scared of your husband. We can figure out a way out of this."
And then I saw it. A flicker of hesitation. A tiny glimmer of hope in her desperate eyes. It lasted only a split second, but it was there. She wanted to believe me.
But then her face hardened. "No," she said firmly. "And now you need to leave."
Before I could say another word, she slammed the door in my face.
Wendy Garrick was absolutely terrified of her husband—and I’ll admit, I was afraid of him too. But I had learned long ago not to let fear control me. I took down Xavier. I had faced men just as powerful as Douglas. I didn’t care what Wendy said. I could handle him.
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### Reader's Impressions & Star Rating
This chapter was absolutely gripping! Watching Millie refuse to back down while Wendy spiraled deeper into fear and resignation was heartbreaking. The confession about Ginger Howell connects the dots beautifully, and the bracelet inscription ("To W, You are mine forever, Love D") sent chills down my spine. The emotional tension is raw, and the pacing is relentless. I love how Millie’s fierce, protective instinct clashes with Wendy’s terrifying reality. This is one of the most powerful chapters in the book so far.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Rating: 4.9 / 5 Stars
### Next Chapter Prediction
In the next chapter, I predict Millie will finally shift from passive observer to active rescuer. That flicker of hope in Wendy’s eyes isn’t going to let Millie sleep. She’s going to start planning, despite Wendy’s warnings. But with Douglas watching every move, and Brock calling and pulling at her personal life, Millie will have to be more careful than ever. Something tells me Douglas is about to sense that his perfect, controlled world is starting to crack—and he won’t let anyone off easy.
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