After the pictures were taken, they threw Livia into a room like unwanted clothes.
It was dark outside. The rain tapped steadily against the windowpane in a rhythm that felt almost cruel-soft, repetitive, indifferent to her reality. The pitter-patter echoed through the dim space, the only sound in a place so still it felt like a tomb.
The atmosphere was calm.
Dreadfully so.
It reminded her-painfully-of her situation.
She wanted to go home. She wanted to see her mother. To make sure she'd gone to the hospital, that the nurses were doing their jobs, that she was warm, comfortable... safe.
Thinking about her mother made her chest ache.
Was Marilyn worried?
Had she noticed the time?
Had she called?
It was probably long past the hour she should've been home. And she didn't even have her phone-those bastards had taken it.
Apparently, she'd regained consciousness during the drive, and they'd knocked her out again with a fabric soaked in something sharp and chemical-chlorine, she thought, based on what she'd seen in movies and read in books. Her head still throbbed.
Now, the room was quiet. The only light came from the occasional flash of lightning beyond the windows, casting the furniture in eerie silhouettes. Her pulse thudded beneath her skin, her body caught somewhere between panic and calculation.
Think, Livia. Think..
Her eyes darted around, desperate for anything-anything-that could help her escape.
She wasn't going to be a pawn in someone's twisted little power play. Not her. They could burn for all she cared. She just had to get out.
Her gaze fell on the bed-clean sheets, tucked neatly. She ripped one free and began folding it into a makeshift rope. Her heart leapt as she spotted something glinting on the floor near the dresser: a pair of cutters. Someone had been too busy or careless.
She grabbed them quickly, mind already calculating knots, window latches, escape angles-
Then a voice sliced through the silence like a blade.
"I wouldn't be thinking whatever you're thinking, though."
She froze.
She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
That venomous voice. Those cold, green eyes that met hers across the room.
Damien.
She hadn't heard him enter. She'd been so consumed with escape that she hadn't noticed the door creak open, hadn't sensed his presence.
Damn it.
Now wasn't the time to regret being sloppy.
His smile was slow,dangerous and mocking.
"I leave you alone for less than five minutes, and this is what I walk into," he said, stepping into the light, hands casually in his pockets. "You're either brave... or stupid enough to not know when to stop."
Livia didn't flinch-at least not visibly.
Inside, she rolled her eyes so hard it might've offended the universe.
His smile made her want to vomit. A reptile's grin in human skin. The kind of man who could smile at you while planning your massacre.
Plotting against his own nephew, no less.
She'd read and heard stories about corruption in rich families-greed, betrayal-but this? This was straight-up psychopathy.
"Maybe five minutes is all I need to get your sorry ass thrown in jail," she snapped, the words flying out before she could weigh them. "You can't just kidnap someone."
His smile didn't fade.
Instead, he pulled out a gun and pointed it directly at her head.
Click.
Her body trembled at the sound. The cold metal kissed her forehead instead. He didn't shoot. Sigh.
He just wanted her to feel it.The fear.The powerlessness.
And God, he was enjoying it. She saw it in his eyes.
"See what you got yourself into," her conscience whispered bitterly. "Now you're going to die before you even hear wedding bells."
Damien tilted his head slightly, finger hovering over the trigger.
"Still got the bite mmh," he murmured. "Well... not for long."
Then came that chuckle-low, warped, and too calm. It skittered down her spine like the cold leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Her voice shook, but she stood her ground.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, eyes locked on his. "Shoot me? Or are you planning something worse? Assault me?"
She hated the tremor in her voice. Hated that he could smell her fear.
He stepped closer.
So close she could smell his cologne-woodsy, sharp, masking the decay underneath.
Before he could speak, the door creaked open.
A maid stepped in carrying a tray of food and something was folded on her arm. She looked young, but her eyes were ancient-like she'd seen hell more times than anyone should.
She didn't get the chance to speak when bang...
Livia screamed.
The sound shattered the air.The tray clattered to the floor.
The maid's body dropped with a thud. A clean, precise hole through her forehead. Her eyes wide open in surprise, lips parted as if a final word had been trapped inside.
Blood sprayed across the white walls and polished floor like a grotesque art.
Livia stumbled back, a strangled cry escaping her throat. Her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes locked on the body-still, bleeding, wronged.
She couldn't breathe.
Couldn't scream again.
Her voice was lost somewhere between terror and disbelief.
Damien didn't even look at the maid.
He looked at Livia.
And smiled.
"I told you not to get any ideas," he said, kneeling and dipping his fingers into the still-warm blood. "She didn't knock, you know."
He stood, picked up the folded cloth the maid had brought, now stained with red, and tossed it at Livia.
"Wear this in the next five minutes. Or I won't hesitate to kill you.". There was no humor this time. No amusement in his voice.
When she didn't move fast enough, he stepped forward, grabbed her frail dress, and ripped it apart. She gasped,her body recoiling, dignity shredding alongside the fabric.
"I...I'll wear it," she breathed, barely audible, her voice cracking under the weight of everything she'd endured.
"Good girl," he said flatly. "Don't keep me waiting. I have places to be. People to kill."
He stepped out, the door shutting behind him with a finality that left Livia shaking.
She stood there, heart hammering, hands clinging to the blood-stained fabric.
This wasn't just a game anymore.
This was war.