Chapter 3

The next morning, rage, sharp and clear, cut through Olivia' s fog of grief. She found Michael in the living room, calmly sipping coffee while talking to Tiffany on speakerphone.

"...yes, the caterer is confirmed. Don't worry, darling, everything will be perfect," Michael was saying.

Tiffany' s saccharine voice floated from the phone. "I just want our day to be special. After all Olivia has put you through, you deserve it."

That was it. Olivia snapped. She lunged across the room, not at Michael, but at the phone sitting on the coffee table. She snatched it up and hurled it against the wall, where it shattered into pieces.

"How dare you!" Michael roared, jumping to his feet.

"She's a monster! And so are you!" Olivia screamed, her voice raw. "You're killing my parents, and she's planning a party!"

Before she could say another word, Michael grabbed her. He shoved her back, hard, against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her. He got in her face, his eyes blazing with a terrifying fury. "Don't you ever, ever touch anything that belongs to Tiffany. She's been through enough."

"She's been through enough?" Olivia gasped, incredulous. "What about me? What about Ethan?"

"I told you to drop it," he snarled. "Ethan's death was his own fault. Weak heart, weak mind." He leaned in closer, his voice a venomous whisper. "And your parents? They aren't even your real parents. Did you know that, Olivia? Your loving mother and father adopted you. They took you in when no one else would. And now, their lives are in my hands. So you will do exactly as I say."

The words hit her harder than any physical blow. Adopted? It couldn't be true. It was just another one of his cruel lies, another tool to break her. But the way he said it, with such casual certainty, planted a seed of doubt.

He saw the shock on her face and smiled. "Yes. I know everything about you." He straightened up and walked over to a decorative chest in the corner of the room. He opened it and pulled out a long, thin leather whip.

Olivia stared at it, her blood running cold. "Michael, no..."

He didn't answer. He just advanced on her. The first lash cut across her back, searing her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt. She cried out, a sharp gasp of pain and shock. He hit her again, and again. The pain was blinding, but the humiliation was worse.

Suddenly, his phone, a different one from his pocket, rang. He paused the assault to answer it. It was Tiffany, calling back. "Michael? What happened? Are you okay? I heard a crash." Her voice was filled with fake panic.

"I'm fine, darling," Michael said, his tone instantly softening into one of deep affection. "Olivia had another one of her fits. She broke your phone."

"Oh no! Did she hurt you?" Tiffany asked, her voice trembling.

"She scratched me," Michael lied, looking at his perfectly unblemished hand. "Just a little scratch on my wrist."

Olivia stared at him, bewildered. A scratch? A tiny, imaginary scratch on his wrist was more important than the bleeding welts he was carving into her back.

"That bitch!" Tiffany shrieked. "You have to punish her, Michael! You have to make her pay for hurting you!"

"Don't you worry, my love," Michael cooed. "I'm handling it right now. Justice will be served."

He hung up the phone and turned back to Olivia, his eyes glowing with a righteous, psychotic fire. "You heard her. You hurt me. Now you pay."

The whipping resumed, but with a new, terrifying intensity. Each lash was a punishment not for what she had done, but for what Tiffany imagined she had done. It was a proxy war fought on her skin.

Pain became her entire world. Through a haze of agony, she looked at him, at the man she once loved, the man who was now her torturer. "Why?" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this? I thought you loved me."

He stopped, the whip held loosely in his hand. He looked at her, his expression cold and analytical. "Love you? Of course, I love you. But I love Tiffany more. She is my good luck charm, my everything. Her happiness is the most important thing in the world. And you... you keep making her unhappy."

He gestured around the luxurious apartment. "You, your family, this life... it's all just a game. A test, orchestrated by my grandfather. He wanted to see if I could handle a woman, a family, before handing over the company. You were supposed to be the perfect, compliant part of that test. But you're failing, Olivia. You're failing spectacularly."

The whip fell again. "Compared to one tear from Tiffany," he said, his voice flat and final, "your life, your brother's life, your parents' lives... they are all worthless."

The words echoed in the silent room, more painful than any lash. Worthless. Her love, her life, her family... all worthless.