Chapter 78 The Monster's Daughter
Olivia's POV
I was chopping onions, trying to focus on the rhythm of the knife against the cutting board, when the door slammed with a force that rattled the windows.
My hands froze mid-air.
“Hale…” I whispered, almost pleading with myself that he wouldn’t hear.
Of course, he did. He always did.
The stench of alcohol hit first , sharp, biting, acrid. Then came the shadow, staggering into the kitchen.
His feet twisted in the harsh overhead light. His eyes, dark and sharp, found mine.
“You’re late,” he slurred, low and dangerous.
I didn’t respond. Silence was safer.
He stepped closer, and the heat of him pressed against the space around me. His hand shot out, gripping my wrist like iron. The knife I’d been holding clattered to the floor.
“Don’t fight,” he murmured. No menace in his words, only absolute control.
I wanted to vanish. To sink into the floor. To stop existing. But escape wasn’t allowed.
I had learned the patterns, the cruel choreography of his violence, long ago.
He stripped me of my clothes, bent me over on the counter and inserted his dk into me.
He pounded me so hard, his sweat trickling over my back, I felt nothing. No emotions,
The night became a blur, my body moved while my mind shut down.
He lifted me up to the room and continued pleasuring himself with my body.
He lifted up my boobs into his mouth and sucked it while his dick thrusted deeper into my body.
He moaned, I laid straight like a log of wood.
He eventually reached his climax, after releasing inside me, he got tired and fell asleep beside me.
Morning arrived, pale and gray. I rose before the sun, dragging a body that ached with bruises and exhaustion.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror then to the monster I called a father.
Probably I should have used that knife on him.
No, the police would catch on later on.
A misery called life…
I brushed the bruise on my cheek with foundation and brushed my hair slowly.
My cold glare on the beast that snored loudly behind me.
The sheets rumbled as he stretched himself into consciousness.
“Report the activities surrounding the Simmons,” he muttered from the bed, voice rough, half-asleep.
I stiffened, heart hammering, stomach twisting with the memory of last night.
“I'm not doing this anymore Mr Reeds,” I flared up, standing up from my seat.
He got up too in amazement of my actions.
“I’m tired,” I croaked, “I'm tired of being your slave, this isn't the life I want,”
“It's over,” I spat with some unusual confidence blooming in my chest.
And boom, his hand landed hard in my cheeks. The slap was so hard that I could feel his finger mark on my face.
The room spun, my legs threatened to give out.
“If you ever think of misbehaving or going againsty orders, I'm going to leak those pictures to the media, let's see if your manager would sort that out,” he yelled.
“Get on your knees,” he commanded, and panic poured into me like ice water.
I dropped, instinct and desperation taking over. “Please… I can’t lose my career. I have nothing else… please.”
“Good girl,” he said, his tone unnervingly calm. “Now talk.”
I swallowed hard. Every word was a blade sliding across raw nerve.
I told him everything he demanded: Mark’s philanthropic project, the looming financial disaster, the stock crash, the frantic attempts to pull emergency funding from Daesen.
I whispered dates, figures, strategies each one a lifeline I clutched desperately. Because my life depended on it.
At the end, he smiled. A curl of satisfaction that made my stomach turn.
“Perfect,” he said, and the words pressed over me like a toxic weight. Then softer, almost coaxing, he added, “Come to daddy.”
I obeyed. Survival was the only currency I had.
He pulled out his dck and motioned me towards it. Of course I knew what next to do. I grabbed it and because to stroke it gently, pulling the cap into my mouth.
I suck it, giving him every filthy pleasure he desired.
✿
Later, I sat in a sterile hospital room. The hum of machines surrounded me like ghosts.
My hands pressed to the cold countertop, I whispered to the doctor, voice trembling but resolute.
“Please… unblock my womb. I want… I want to get pregnant.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow, pausing as if he could weigh the gravity of my words.
“Miss Reed… your cervix is severely scarred. Pregnancy could be life-threatening.”
I swallowed hard, throat dry, jaw set tight. “I understand,” I said quietly, though inside, fear gnawed at my chest.
“You understand?” he pressed. “You realize the risk? This could be dangerous… fatal even.”
I nodded. Eyes fixed on the white ceiling. My voice, when it came, was small but unwavering. “I don’t have a choice.”
Tears slid down my cheeks before I could stop them.
I wiped them, leaving streaks no one else would see. The choice was mine, and yet it wasn’t , my life had been orchestrated around men’s whims for so long that independence felt like rebellion.
“You don’t have to risk your life. There are options,” he insisted gently. “Protective measures. Alternatives.”
I shook my head. Hands trembling, b“I know the risks. This is what I want. Nothing else matters.”
He called after me “Miss Reed… are you really sure this is what you want?”