Chapter 9: The Final Week

Elisa knelt on the carpet of Mr. Daley’s office, her head bowed, her heart pounding like a drum. The air was thick with his presence, his predatory smile a weight she could feel without looking. Her whispered declaration “I’m ready to enter service” hung between them, a surrender she couldn’t take back. She waited, trembling, for his response, her mind a storm of shame and resolve. *I’m nothing,* she thought, the course’s insults echoing. *This is my place.*

Mr. Daley’s laugh was sharp, cutting through her like a blade. “HA! You’ll have to beg better than that, girl,” he said, his voice low and cruel. “Service isn’t given, it’s earned. Look at me and try again.”

Elisa’s breath hitched, her face burning. She lifted her eyes, meeting his, blue, piercing, unyielding. “Please, sir,” she said, her voice cracking, “I’m nothing. I want to serve you, your family. Please… take me. Make me yours.”

He leaned back, his smile widening, but his eyes remained cold. “Better,” he said, “but not enough. You’ll prove it this week.” He slid a folder across his desk, its weight ominous. “One case for you, Elisa. Prepare a transfer of assets, legal and medical powers of attorney, and a name change form. The client is Elisa Harper. The new name is ‘Daley Servant 7.’ Make them airtight. This is your last week of freedom.”

Elisa’s stomach dropped, her hands clenching in her lap. The words landed like a sentence, her own assets, her own name, her own life, signed away. She nodded, unable to speak, and took the folder, its edges sharp against her fingers. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Dismissed,” Mr. Daley said, waving her off. “And don’t slack on your cleaning duties. My family expects perfection.”

Monday: The Documents and Liz’s Apartment

Elisa returned to her desk, the folder a lead weight in her bag. Her cubicle was a graveyard of admin tasks, scanned forms, labeled folders, but the legal work felt alien now, a relic of a life she no longer fit. She opened the folder, her own name staring back at her: *Elisa Harper, Client.* The documents were templates, identical to Martha’s, but filling them in was surreal. She drafted the asset transfer, listing her apartment, savings, and meager investments, all to be handed to the Daley Family Trust. The legal and medical powers of attorney granted the Daleys total control over her life, her decisions, her body. The name change form was the worst: *Elisa Harper* to *Daley Servant 7.* Her hand shook as she typed, each keystroke a step toward erasure. *I’m nothing,* she thought, the course’s mantra steadying her. *This is right.*

Law should have consumed her, but her mind drifted to cleaning, sponges, bleach, the rhythm of servitude. She imagined herself at the Daley estate, shaved and numbered, her past gone. The thought was terrifying, but it sparked a shameful heat, her thighs pressing together under the desk. *I’m not a lawyer anymore,* she admitted, her fingers pausing on the keyboard. *I’m a servant.*

That evening, she reported to Liz’s apartment, her cleaning supplies a familiar burden. Liz opened the door, her yoga pants and smirk as cutting as ever. “Back for more, scrubber?” she said, laughing. “God, you’re pathetic. Daddy says you’re signing yourself away this week. What a loser, giving up everything to be our maid.”

Elisa knelt by the kitchen sink, scrubbing pots crusted with burned rice, the grease clinging to her fingers. *Soak, scrape, rinse.* Liz’s voice followed, relentless. “Look at you, slaving away like a dog. You thought you were hot shit, didn’t you? Now you’re just filth, cleaning my filth. You’re not even a person, Elisa, just a tool, a nothing. Bet you’re soaking wet, thinking about being ‘Servant 7.’”

The words burned, but Elisa’s body responded, her breath shallow as she scrubbed harder. *I’m a nothing,* she thought, Liz’s taunts merging with the course’s insults. *I deserve this.* She moved to the bathroom, tackling the toilet, its stains stubborn under her brush. *Scrub the rim, check the bowl.* Liz leaned in, sipping wine. “You’re a joke, Elisa. All that education, and you’re choosing this? You’re better at toilets than you ever were at law. Maybe we’ll make you lick it clean next.”

Elisa finished at midnight, her hands raw, her smock damp with sweat. Back home, she opened the servitude forum, her post raw: “I’m preparing my own documents, asset transfer, name change to ‘Daley Servant 7.’ This is my last week. I cleaned for her tonight, and she called me a nothing. She’s right. I’m ready, but I’m scared. Is this really freedom?” Responses flooded in. ShadowServant wrote: “You’re almost there. Signing is your rebirth. Embrace it.” ServantHeart added: “I signed my life away last year. It’s peace, I promise.” But SilentVow was cautious: “Be sure, CityStar28. This is forever. I love my life as a servant, but some regret it. Are you ready to be nothing?” Elisa stared at the screen, her fingers trembling, her body aching for release but her mind caught on SilentVow’s warning.

Tuesday: John and Sophia’s Penthouse

Tuesday’s admin work was a blur of data entry, her legal skills wasted on typos and spreadsheets. The documents loomed, nearly complete, her signature the only thing missing. She polished the name change form, the words *Daley Servant 7* stark on the page. *That’s me,* she thought, a strange calm settling over her. *Not Elisa. Not anymore.*

At John and Sophia’s penthouse, the chaos was worse, spilled beer on the rug, dishes piled with congealed pizza, a bathroom sink clogged with hair. John handed her a mop, his smile cruel. “Get to it, lawyer. Or should I say ‘Servant 7’? Daddy says you’re almost ours.”

Elisa mopped the rug, the beer soaking her knees, her mind fixed on the task. *Slow strokes, no streaks.* John’s voice cut through. “You’re a disgrace, Elisa. A lawyer, groveling for our mess? You’re nothing but a scrubber now. Bet you’re dreaming of the estate, bald and branded, crawling for us.” Sophia joined in, her heels clicking. “She’s perfect for it, John. Look at that desperation, she’s born to be a maid. You don’t deserve your old life, do you? Say it.”

“I don’t deserve it,” Elisa whispered, her mop pausing, the words true. *I’m nothing,* she thought, scrubbing harder. She tackled the dishes, grease coating her hands, then unclogged the sink, pulling out slimy hair with gloved fingers. *Clean it, make it perfect.* Sophia’s laughter was sharp. “God, you’re pathetic, fishing out my hair like it’s your job. Oh wait, it is! You’re a worm, Elisa, not even human. You love this, don’t you?”

Elisa’s face burned, her arousal a betrayal, but she nodded, unable to lie. *I love it,* she thought, shame and relief mixing. Her forum post that night was frantic: “I cleaned their penthouse, rug, dishes, hair in the sink. They said I’m a worm, not human. I said I don’t deserve my old life, and I meant it. I’m signing the papers soon. Am I crazy?” BrokenChain replied: “You’re not crazy, you’re awake. Signing is your truth.” But LostName cautioned: “I signed too fast. I’m happy now, but the first months were hell. Think hard, CityStar28.” Elisa read, her fingers moving beneath her waistband, chasing the high of surrender, SilentVow’s and LostName’s warnings a faint echo against the forum’s cheers.

Wednesday: The Apology Letters

Wednesday morning, Mr. Daley summoned Elisa to his office. His smile was predatory, his voice smooth. “One more task, Elisa. Write a letter of apology to the five people on your course list, your mother, father, sister, professor, yourself. Apologise for pretending to be something you’re not. You’ve accepted you’re nothing but a servant, not even a name. Make it convincing. I’ll read them.”

Elisa nodded, her throat tight, and returned to her desk. The letters were agony, each word a knife. She wrote:

To My Mother, Susan:

Dear Mom,

I’m writing to apologize for deceiving you, for pretending to be the daughter you were proud of, a lawyer, a star, someone worthy of your love. I’ve spent years chasing that image, wearing suits, arguing cases, trying to be the woman you boasted about at your book club. But it was a lie. The Servants’ Evaluation Course showed me the truth: I’m nothing, a blank, a tool meant to serve, not shine. I’ve always felt it, deep down, the stress of law, the panic of failing you, but I hid it, smiling through my fear.

I’m not that person, Mom. I’m not Elisa Harper anymore. I’ve prepared documents to transfer my apartment, my savings, everything I own to the Daley Family Trust. I’ve signed away my legal and medical rights, giving the Daleys control over my life. Most importantly, I’ve changed my name to Daley Servant 7. It’s not just a title, it’s my truth, my purpose. I’m giving up my name, my past, my freedom to serve the Daley family, to clean their homes, to exist for their needs. I deserve this, Mom, because I’m nothing more. The course taught me that, with every scrub of a filthy tile, every insult I swallowed: “You’re a worm, a speck.” They’re right.

I’m sorry for wasting your pride, for letting you believe I was more. You raised me to be strong, but I’m weak, born to kneel, not lead. I’m sorry for the tears you’ll shed, for the shame of telling your friends your daughter is a servant, not a success. I’ve found my place, and it’s not at your side, it’s on my knees, serving. Please forgive me for pretending, for failing you.

With regret,
Daley Servant 7 (formerly Elisa)

To My Father, Michael:

Dear Dad,

I owe you an apology for the years I spent pretending to be someone worthy of your sacrifices. You worked overtime, paid for my law school, believed I’d carry your name into courtrooms and corner offices. I tried to be that daughter, drafting briefs, winning cases, but it was a facade. The Servants’ Evaluation Course stripped away my lies, showed me what I am: nothing, a blank personality, a tool meant to serve, not succeed.

I’ve seen the truth now, Dad. I’m not a lawyer, not a leader. I’m a servant, and I deserve to be nothing more. This week, I’m preparing documents to give everything, my apartment, my bank account, my possessions, to the Daley Family Trust. I’m signing over my legal and medical rights, letting the Daleys decide my future. I’m changing my name to Daley Servant 7, erasing Elisa Harper forever. This is my calling, to clean their floors, scrub their dishes, exist for their commands. The course taught me this, with every pot I scrubbed, every insult I internalised: “You’re pathetic, a nobody.” I am, and I’m free in that truth.

I’m sorry for failing you, for wasting your money, your dreams. I’m sorry for the anger you’ll feel when you hear I’ve chosen servitude over the life you built for me. I don’t deserve that life, Dad. I’m too weak, too small, meant for mops, not motions. Forgive me for pretending, for letting you believe I was more.

With shame,
Daley Servant 7 (formerly Elisa)

To My Sister, Claire:

Dear Claire,

I’m so sorry for being the sister you looked up to, the one you bragged about to your friends, the lawyer you said you’d follow. I’ve been lying to you, pretending to be strong, someone worthy of your admiration. The Servants’ Evaluation Course showed me the truth: I’m nothing, a worm, a blank meant to serve, not inspire. I’ve always felt it, the dread before every case, the fear I wasn’t enough—but I hid it, playing the role of big sister.

I’m not that person, Claire. I’m not Elisa anymore. I’m giving up everything, apartment, my savings, my rights, to the Daley Family Trust. I’m signing papers to make the Daleys my legal and medical guardians, surrendering my autonomy. I’m changing my name to Daley Servant 7, a number, not a person. This is my purpose, to scrub their toilets, polish their floors, live for their needs. The course burned this into me, with every insult, every task: “You’re a scrubber, a nothing.” They’re right, and I deserve it.

I’m sorry for letting you down, for being a false hero. You’re stronger than me, Claire, destined for more. I’m sorry for the embarrassment when you tell your friends your sister is a servant, not a star. I don’t deserve your love, your pride. I’m meant to serve, to be nothing. Forgive me for pretending, for failing you.

With love and regret,
Daley Servant 7 (formerly Elisa)

To Professor Linden:

Dear Professor Linden,

I owe you an apology for deceiving you, for letting you believe I was a student with potential, someone who’d make you proud in the legal world. You mentored me, wrote my recommendations, celebrated my first case win. But it was a lie. The Servants’ Evaluation Course revealed my truth: I’m nothing, a blank, a tool meant to serve, not succeed. I’ve always felt the weight of my inadequacy, the panic of every brief, but I hid it, wearing the mask of a lawyer.

I’m not that person, Professor. I’m not Elisa Harper anymore. I’m surrendering everything, my home, my money, my rights, to the Daley Family Trust. I’m signing away my legal and medical autonomy, giving the Daleys control over my life. I’m changing my name to Daley Servant 7, erasing my past to become a servant, nothing more. My purpose is to clean their kitchens, mop their floors, obey their commands. The course taught me this, with every scrub of a greasy pot, every taunt: “You’re a speck, a nobody.” I am, and I belong here.

I’m sorry for wasting your time, your belief. I’m sorry for the disappointment when you hear I’ve chosen servitude over the law. I don’t deserve your mentorship, your faith. I’m too weak, too empty, meant for rags, not robes. Forgive me for pretending, for letting you think I was more.

With deep regret,
Daley Servant 7 (formerly Elisa)

To Myself:

Dear Elisa,

I’m sorry for lying to you, for making you believe you were someone, a lawyer, a daughter, a sister, a person with a future. You tried so hard, studying late, arguing cases, chasing a life you thought you wanted. But it was a delusion. The Servants’ Evaluation Course showed me, us, the truth: you’re nothing, a blank, a worm meant to serve, not strive. I’ve felt it all along, the stress that crushed you, the fear you’d never be enough. I hid it, but I can’t anymore.

You’re not Elisa anymore. I’m giving up everything, your apartment, your savings, your dreams, to the Daley Family Trust. I’m signing away your rights, letting the Daleys own your body and choices. I’m changing your name to Daley Servant 7, a number, a tool, not a person. This is your purpose, to scrub their tiles, polish their silver, exist for their will. The course burned this into me, with every insult, every task: “You’re pathetic, a nothing.” You are, and it’s freedom.

I’m sorry for fighting it, for making you carry that weight. I’m sorry for the pain of letting go, the screams of the old you fading. You don’t deserve that life, Elisa. You’re too small, too broken, meant for servitude, not success. I forgive you, and I’m setting you free to be nothing.

With acceptance,
Daley Servant 7

Elisa’s hands shook as she sealed the letters, her eyes wet. *I’m nothing,* she thought, the words a comfort now. She dropped them on Mr. Daley’s desk, his nod of approval a twisted validation. That night, she cleaned Mrs. Daley’s pied-à-terre, polishing marble floors, her reflection a ghost in the shine. *Buff in circles, no smudges.* Mrs. Daley watched, silent, her eyes like her husband’s, knowing, predatory. “You’re learning,” she said, her voice soft but cutting. “You’re almost nothing.”

Her forum post was raw: “I wrote letters apologising for pretending to be someone. I’m Daley Servant 7 now, not Elisa. I clean every night, and it’s all I am. I’m ready to sign, but part of me is screaming. Tell me I’m doing the right thing.” ShadowServant cheered: “You’re perfect, CityStar28. The letters are your freedom. Sign and be reborn.” ServantHeart added: “I wrote letters too. It’s liberation.” But SilentVow warned: “Those letters cut deep. I burned mine, but I still serve. Be certain, or you’ll break.” LostName echoed: “I’m content, but the screams don’t stop for everyone. Pause, CityStar28.” Elisa read, her body trembling, the cheers drowning the doubts, her fingers seeking release as she clung to her new truth.

Thursday and Friday: The Final Tasks

Thursday and Friday blurred into more cleaning, Liz’s oven, crusted with grease; John and Sophia’s bathroom, tiles caked with soap scum; Mrs. Daley’s windows, streaked with city grime. Each task was a ritual, Elisa’s mind consumed by *scrub, wipe, polish.* Liz’s mockery was vicious: “You’re a walking failure, Elisa. Signing your life away? You’re not even worth the ink.” John and Sophia’s taunts were crueler: “You’re a speck, Servant 7, crawling to be ours. You love this filth, don’t you?” Elisa nodded, her thoughts a loop: *I’m a speck, a nothing, I love this.*

Her forum posts grew shorter, more certain: “I’m signing tomorrow. I cleaned their homes, and it’s my purpose. I’m nothing, and it’s right.” The community cheered, but SilentVow’s final message lingered: “I serve, but I miss my name sometimes. Be sure.” Elisa ignored it, her mind fixed on the estate, her new life.

Saturday: The Flight

Saturday morning, Elisa stood in her apartment, her documents complete, ready for her signature to be scrawled on each, asset transfer, powers of attorney, name change to *Daley Servant 7.* Her bag was packed, her suits donated, her life packed into a few essentials. She caught a taxi to the airport, her flight to the Daley estate a private jet, courtesy of Mr. Daley. As the city shrank below, she stared out the window, her reflection faint. *Elisa is gone,* she thought, the course’s truth her anchor. *I’m Daley Servant 7. I’m nothing, and I’m free.*