Chapter 4

As the whip continued to fall, something inside Olivia shifted. The searing pain began to dull, replaced by an icy calm. The love she' d felt for Michael, the hope she' d clung to, evaporated. It didn't just die, it turned to ash and blew away, leaving nothing behind. All that remained was a cold, hard resolve. I will survive this. And I will make him pay.

She stopped crying out. She stopped flinching. She stood there, silent and still, taking each blow without a sound. Her silence seemed to unnerve Michael more than her screams had.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Beg. Cry. Show me you're sorry."

Olivia lifted her head and met his eyes in the mirror across the room. Her own face was a mess of tears and blood, but her gaze was steady. "I have nothing to be sorry for."

His face contorted with rage. "You defiant bitch!" He struck her again, this time across the cheek. The blow snapped her head to the side, and a fresh wave of pain exploded in her face. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Still, she said nothing.

He hit her again and again, but the fight had gone out of him. Her lack of reaction seemed to rob him of his power. He was an actor without an audience. With a frustrated roar, he threw the whip to the floor. "Fine! Suffer in silence!"

He stormed over to the couch where he had left his phone and immediately called Tiffany. "It's done, my love," he said, his voice instantly changing back to that sickeningly sweet tone. "She's been punished. Are you happy now?"

Olivia watched him, a detached observer to her own torture. He was a child, a psychopath who needed constant validation from his equally twisted "sister."

The pain finally overwhelmed her. The room began to swim, the edges of her vision turning dark. As she slid to the floor, her last conscious thought was of Ethan. She saw his face, not screaming in terror, but smiling, the way he did when they were kids. Live, Liv, his voice echoed in her mind. You have to live.

She woke up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft beep of a machine. She was in a hospital bed. Her back was bandaged, and her face throbbed with a dull ache. For a moment, she was disoriented, and then the full, crushing weight of her reality came crashing back down.

Two nurses were talking in low voices just outside her door. "Can you believe it? Michael Thompson is in the room next door. He's been here all night, watching over his fiancée."

"He's so devoted," the other nurse sighed. "I read online that she had a terrible fall down the stairs. He's a saint for taking care of her like this. They say he hasn't left her side."

Olivia felt a bitter, humorless laugh bubble in her chest. A fall. Of course. Michael had an explanation for everything. The world saw a devoted fiancé, not a monster.

She had to get out. She had to get help. Her mind raced, seizing on the one hope she had. Mr. Davies.

Carefully, she reached for the call button. When a nurse came in, Olivia forced a weak smile. "My phone... I think my fiancé has it. Could I possibly borrow yours for a moment? I just need to make a quick call to my office."

The nurse, charmed by the story of the devoted fiancé, happily handed over her phone. "Of course, dear. Take your time."

As soon as the nurse left, Olivia' s fingers flew across the screen, dialing a number she had memorized years ago, a number her father had told her to use only in the most dire of emergencies.

It rang once, twice. A calm, deep voice answered. "Davies."

"Mr. Davies," Olivia whispered, her voice cracking. "This is Olivia Reynolds. Arthur Reynolds's daughter. I... I need help."

There was a pause on the other end. "Olivia. I was sorry to hear about your father's troubles. What's wrong?"

"I'm in danger," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "My fiancé, Michael Thompson... he's not who he seems. He killed my brother. He's holding my parents hostage. And he's going to kill me. Please, you have to help me escape."

"Where are you?" Mr. Davies's voice was sharp, all business.

"Oceanville General Hospital, room 302," she whispered frantically. "He could be back any second."

"Stay calm. I'm sending someone. Do not let anyone move you. I will handle it."

Just as she was about to hang up, the door to her room burst open. Michael stood there, his face a thunderous mask of fury. He had seen her on the phone.

"Who are you talking to?" he snarled, striding across the room and snatching the phone from her hand. He looked at the screen, but Olivia had already ended the call. "Give me the number! Who were you calling?"