Chapter 54 Her Father's Hand
Olivia’s POV
The first hit had come without warning.
A sharp slap had split the air, followed by the metallic crash of a vase shattering beside my feet.
I didn't even flinch anymore. The sting across my cheek burned, but it was the silence afterward that hurt worse; the silence that waited for me to beg.
Hale, sorry my father stood over me, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, his knuckles white from rage.
His breathing was heavy, but his eyes… His eyes were calm. That calmness terrified me more than his fists ever could.
“You call this loyalty?” he had asked softly, almost kindly.
The softness had been worse than the violence. It was the mask of a man who enjoyed control.
I had pressed my hand to my cheek, trembling. “I tried, Father..”
The second hit had come across my arm. My knees buckled, and I fell beside the broken glass. A bead of blood bloomed on my skin where a shard had nicked me.
“Try harder,” he had snarled. “You think I built everything for you to ruin it because of your weakness?”
My lips had trembled, but I had forced the words out carefully, measured, like a student reciting a line she didn’t believe in. “I did what you asked. I met him. I tried to get close to Mark.”
He had begun to pace, rubbing the bridge of his nose like a man tired of the world’s stupidity.
“Tried,” he had repeated, as if the word itself was poison. “You don’t try, Olivia. You do. That boy has been biting more than he chew,”
“He has been cleaning Becca's mess. You’re the only one who can fix what she destroyed.”
He had crouched to my level then, his voice dropping to a whisper that smelled like whiskey and power. “Do you understand me?”
I nodded, even as tears burned at the corners of my eyes. “Yes, Father.”
His hand had gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’re all I have left. Don’t make me regret choosing you.”
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the storm had ended. He had straightened his collar, calm again, the same man who smiled for the press cameras and gave donations to hospitals.
He had looked down at me like nothing had happened.
“Clean yourself up,” he had said. “We have a long day ahead.”
When he had left, the room had been a graveyard of porcelain and silence. I had sat there for a long time, my pulse still shaking in my wrists. Then I went to the mirror.
The reflection that stared back at me was one I barely recognized.
My eyes were swollen, my cheek streaked with blood. The bruise on my arm was already darkening into something that would take makeup to hide.
By noon, I had wrapped a scarf around my arm and powdered my face until the bruises disappeared under beige layers.
The perfect daughter again. Hale’s obedient shadow.
Carmen had been waiting for me at the café downtown, her hair tied in a messy bun, her sunglasses hiding most of her face.
The moment I saw her, something twisted in my chest. She had always looked like light, soft, golden, unreachable. But now, even she looked dimmed.
“Liv,” she had said, standing to hug me. Her voice was warm, but there was a hesitation in it, like she wasn’t sure if she should. “You look… tired.”
I smiled because that’s what I was supposed to do. “Work’s been a lot.”
She nodded slowly. “I figured. I barely see you anymore.”
We sat down. The air between us felt unfamiliar, like a friendship that had grown cracks no one wanted to name.
I had ordered tea. She had ordered coffee. For a few minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then her gaze had drifted to my wrist where the scarf had slipped just enough to reveal the faint shadow of a bruise.
“Olivia,” she had said softly, her brows knitting. “Is someone hurting you?”
My throat had closed. I had forced a laugh that sounded too brittle. “No. I tripped this morning and the floor won.”
She hadn’t smiled. “You’ve been tripping a lot lately.”
“I’m just clumsy.”
She had leaned back, studying me with quiet sadness. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
I had looked away, fixing my eyes on the window instead. “It’s fine, Carmen. Really.”
The silence that followed had been heavy, pressing.
I had pulled out the proposal.
A neat folder with the Simmons Group logo embossed in gold.
“I wanted to show you something,” I had said quickly, eager to change the subject.
“It's a new business strategy,I wanted to show you first before submitting it to your brother,”
“Okayyy,”
“It's a philanthropist program, mainly for children's safety. On our side, we will the masses favour on our side and might likely get custody of the Go Fund Me,”
Carmen had blinked, caught off guard by my sudden enthusiasm. “You’ve been busy.”
“Father says it’s the only way to fix the company’s reputation,” I replied automatically.
Her lips had parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She had just looked at me and I could feel her pity like a blade.
“Olivia,” she had murmured after a while, “you don’t have to keep proving yourself to him.”
I froze. “What are you talking about?”
“You think I don’t see it?” she had whispered. “Every time you talk about him, your hands shake. Every time you mention work, you stop breathing for a second. Whatever this is , it’s not loyalty. It’s fear.”
The word had landed like a slap.
Fear.
I had stood abruptly, gathering the files into my bag. “You don’t understand, Carmen. He needs me. I’m the only one who can..”
I halted, explaining myself to her would only stirred up thing
I smiled tightly. “I’ll call you later.”
Carmen had reached for my hand, but I had already pulled away. The scarf had slipped again, and she had seen the full mark on my arm. Her breath had caught.
“Liv…”
I had forced a laugh. “I told you, it’s nothing.”
Then I walked away before she could stop me.
Outside, the sun had been too bright, the city too loud. I felt the bruise pulse beneath the scarf with every heartbeat.
It wasn’t just a mark, it was proof of ownership.
And to be accepted by my father,I had to prove myself.