Page 199 of Plaything

“You care a lot about your reputation, to a fault,” I started. “That’s probably your most consistent trait, other than being cold-blooded,” I widened my eyes, my fear of him shrinking as I prepared for my threat.

“Don’t get me wrong, to everyone else, you’ve been the picture of generosity and have played your character very well,” I complimented. “You’ve got the media fooled with the help of the Tweedle brothers. They’ve always been incredibly loyal to you—”

“What point are you trying to make, Odette?” He clenched his jaw.

“Do you think they’ll remain loyal to you as a dead man?”

He said nothing as he narrowed his eyes on me, anger brewing behind his eyes.

“I don’t think they will,” I answered. “For instance, if someone approached them about the biggest scandal, fraud, and truth about who the great Charles Whitlock really was... they’d jump at the story,” I paused, watching his fists clench at his sides. “Furthermore, so would every other media outlet. I imagine that after certain truths are told about how Charles Whitlock made and spent his fortune, not many people would attend his funeral.” I shrugged. “Maybe one person would attend, but not out of sorrow or grief,” I shook my head in thought. “She’d go to spit on his grave, knowing she spoke her truth and the world knew what he’d put her through.”

His upper lip curled as he stepped around the desk, now only a few feet away from me. I stood my ground despite the urge to retreat. “Are you threatening me, Odette?” He spat.

“Yes.” My tone was firm and didn’t waver once. Aiden would be proud. “My life has always been in your hands. Your death is in mine.” My confidence faltered as he took another step towards me. “Charles, you will put the manor back in the university’s name. You will void the restraining order. Their lives will remain unchanged, safe from your schemes. Or I will drag your fucking reputation through the mud after you’re dead,” I seethed.

Standing in my father’s shadow, I had no time to react, flinch, or put my arms up to defend my face. In the blink of an eye, his fist connected with my cheek.

My mind went blank as emotions and pain flooded through my every nerve. Stumbling backward, I held my heated cheek, staring at the furious man with wide, watery eyes.

My initial thought was that he made a mistake. Maybe he went in for a slap or didn’t intend to actually make contact and only scare me. He’d slapped me before with an open hand and the tips of his fingers. This was no slap.

I could feel the developing bruise on my cheekbone and faintly tasted blood like I’d bit my cheek.

My anger mixed with confusion and sadness as I stared at him. “Y-you... you hit me?” I said, in disbelief that he would ever bruise or leave a mark on me. He was always so particular about my appearance. He would be very upset if I was photographed with a bruise on my face. Or so I thought.

“You ungrateful, insolent whore,” he shouted down at me, still walking towards me. There was a deranged look in his eyes, making me feel incredibly unsafe.

Stumbling backward, I cautiously watched the murderous man approach me. “Everything I did for you,” he raised his fist again, and I blocked it with my arm, bruising it in the process. I wasn’t fast enough as he followed up with his left fist, landing another blow to my cheek, making me cry out. “And you dare threaten everything I’ve worked for for some lowlife second-class college professors!” He shoved me against a bookshelf.

Tears were streaming down my face in pain, shock, and sadness for my former self. As of 30 seconds ago, Charles had stooped to a new low. I never thought he was capable of beating a woman... Not like this.

My world was incredibly distorted from the pressure I felt in my head and the thousand thoughts that followed. It almost didn’t feel real, like I was going to wake up from one of my nightmares any minute now. The heavy bookshelf wobbled, causing books to fall to the floor with thuds.

Too discombobulated to anticipate his next hits, I was forced to take them all. My shaking arms in front of me served little purpose when he began letting his rage out on my torso, too.

With no end to his attack in sight, I screamed out for help, hoping someone would hear my muffled screams through the soundproof room. “Stop! Please, you’re h-hurting me!” I sobbed, feeling my body ache.

A hearty, mocking chuckle filled the room as he stepped closer to me, making me stumble back. “They don’t care about you,” he grabbed a fist full of my hair. “You are nothing without me. Those men who you’re willing to throw your life away for don’t give a fuck about you either.” His other hand reached out, and I quickly attempted to block him. He was bigger and much stronger than me, easily gripping my shirt and holding me against the wall.

“They like you because you’re young and stupid enough to spread your legs for them,” he growled. His grip was so tight that a few buttons came undone, but I couldn’t bring myself to care as he slammed my head against the wall.

“That—” I could hardly breathe. “That’s not true,” I defended.

A knock on the locked door was music to my ears, and my heavy eyes darted to it. “Hey, is everything okay in there?” A man asked, his voice muffled despite him being next to the door.

Charles threw me to the ground by my hair. Every limb felt heavy as I tried to push myself up. My arms shook, and with a swift kick from Charles, I was back on the ground, vision blurring. “S...Swan,” I panted quietly.

Another kick to my stomach, and I screamed. I hardly recognized the shrill broken sound as my own before my head was yanked back up by my hair, silencing me. “You are my life’s biggest disappointment,” he hissed in my face. With his final punch, I went limp on his office floor, waiting for the nightmare to be over.

Black dots began to grow as my consciousness slowly began to fade. The last things I remembered were how badly my body and heart ached, the office door banging as someone tried to open it, and the sound of Charles picking up his office phone, demanding to get his real estate team on the line.

“Jesus Christ...” a man panted before something warm was draped over me. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” He shouted. “You’re okay, Sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

“Niko?” My voice was barely a whisper. The world was blurred, one eye swollen shut, the other filled with tears. I was fading in and out of consciousness, making the noise around me impossible to understand.

“No...” his voice seemed sad. “No, it’s Vincent. I’m going to take you home, okay?”

“I need... are there papers on the desk?” I groaned in pain. I couldn’t leave without the voided documents.

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