Chapter 7 Good Girl, Bad God

The tapping woke her.

"Ms. Pearson?"

Marissa's voice filtered through the fog. Olivia forced her eyes open, squinting against the morning light flooding through the windows. Her gown still lay in a crumpled heap nearby.

"He's gone to the office," Marissa said quietly, answering the question Olivia hadn't asked. "Let me help you up."

The relief that flooded through her felt obscene. He wasn't here. She could breathe.

Marissa's hands were surprisingly gentle as she helped Olivia to her feet.

"Bathroom," Olivia managed.

The shower water ran scalding hot. Olivia stood under the spray until her skin turned red, scrubbing at places that would never feel clean again. She watched the water circle the drain and wondered if pieces of herself were disappearing down there too, dissolving into nothing.

When she finally emerged, wrapped in a towel, she found her bedroom transformed. Fresh flowers on the nightstand. Breakfast laid out on the sitting area table. Clean clothes arranged on the bed.

And on her pillow, a velvet box.

"What's this?" she asked as Marissa returned with a breakfast tray.

"Mr. Blackwood left it for you before he departed."

Olivia approached the box warily, as though it might contain something venomous. Inside, nestled on black velvet, lay a diamond collar necklace-ostentatious, gleaming, obscenely expensive. An engraved platinum tag hung from it: Property of S.B.

Her stomach lurched. "He can't be serious."

"He instructed me to ensure you wear it at all times," Marissa said, her professional mask firmly back in place. "There are also... new protocols."

Olivia's hands closed around the collar until she felt the sting of the diamonds. "Protocols?"

Marissa busied herself arranging breakfast-fresh fruit, avocado toast, a steaming cappuccino. "Given last night's... incident, Mr. Blackwood has implemented additional security measures." She gestured to a slim platinum anklet on the tray. "This will track your movements."

"He's tagging me like livestock?" The words caught in Olivia's throat.

"It's being marketed as exclusive jewelry to the press. Your phone has also been replaced." Marissa nodded to a new iPhone beside the coffee. "All communications will be screened. Your laptop access will be limited to approved sites. The tracker will alert security if you leave the penthouse without authorization."

The walls closed in. The beautiful cage she'd been trying to ignore suddenly had visible bars.

"I won't wear it." Olivia's voice came out stronger than she felt. "Any of it. Tell him I refuse."

Marissa pulled out her phone. Tapped the screen. Turned it toward Olivia. The video showed her father.

"Sebastian, please. Just a little more time. The casino debts-they're threatening to break my knees. You said if I signed the contract, you'd handle everything."

Sebastian's voice, cold and amused: "I said I'd handle your legal troubles, James. Your gambling addiction wasn't part of our arrangement."

"But she's your wife now! Surely you can-"

"Your daughter fulfilled her part of the bargain. You're still alive and free, aren't you? That's all I promised."

"I'll do anything. Maybe Olivia could... be more cooperative? She always was stubborn, just like her mother. But I could talk to her, make her understand what's expected-"

"You're suggesting I'm not capable of handling my own wife?"

"No! No, of course not. I just meant-"

"How much do you need, James?"

"Fifty thousand would get them off my back until-"

"I'll transfer twenty. And James? If you ever suggest your daughter isn't satisfying me again, I'll revisit our arrangement entirely."

The recording stopped. Olivia stood frozen.

"He's been recording my father?"

"Mr. Blackwood records everything, Mrs. Blackwood." Marissa's voice was gentle. "He has contingencies for his contingencies."

The world tilted dangerously. Her father-the man she'd sacrificed everything to save-had been begging for money, offering to make her "more cooperative" like she was a defective product.

"How long?" She forced the words through numb lips. "How long has he been paying my father's debts?"

"Since before your wedding. The transfer to save Pearson Innovations was just the beginning." Marissa hesitated. "Your father has expensive tastes and poor impulse control. Mr. Blackwood anticipated this."

Of course he had. Sebastian Blackwood left nothing to chance. He'd known her father would keep coming back for more, creating an endless chain of obligation.

"The collar, Mrs. Blackwood." Marissa nodded to the diamonds still clutched in Olivia's fist. "And the anklet."

With trembling fingers, Olivia fastened the cold diamonds around her throat. The tag-Property of S.B.-hung against her collarbone like an icicle.

"Eat something," Marissa urged, gesturing to the breakfast spread. "You'll need your strength."

For what? Olivia wanted to ask. For the next humiliation? The next lesson in obedience?

But she sat. She ate. Because what else was there to do?

❧

Sebastian's office occupied the top floor of Blackwood Tower, a glass and steel monument to his ego that could be seen from every borough. He stood at the windows now, hands in his pockets, watching the city move below him like pieces on a chessboard.

His phone buzzed. A notification from the security app. Tracker activated. 7:43 AM.

Good girl.

He'd known she'd resist. Known Marissa would show her the recordings. Known the moment Olivia realized her father's complicity, something inside her would break just a little bit more.

That's what power was. Not force. Not violence. Just the systematic removal of all other options until submission became the only logical choice.

Last night had been necessary. Watching Ethan touch her, seeing that defiant hope flicker in her eyes-it had ignited something in Sebastian he'd spent years learning to control. The rage that lived beneath his carefully constructed exterior, the part of him that remembered being small and powerless and determined to never feel that way again.

He'd wanted to destroy that hope. Grind it into dust.

And he had.

Almost.

Sebastian's reflection stared back at him from the window, overlapping with the view of the city. He looked calm. Collected. Nothing like the man who'd forced his wife to her knees last night, who'd used her mouth like she was nothing.

Except she wasn't nothing.

That was the problem.

He remembered the museum gala last year with perfect clarity. The way she'd looked at him across the room, recognition and disgust warring on her face. The way she'd walked right up to him and said, "You're Sebastian Blackwood. The corporate vampire who destroyed Meridian Tech and put three hundred people out of work."

No fear. No calculation. Just honest contempt.

And when he'd tried to charm her, tried to deploy the smile that usually made women melt, she'd laughed.

"Does that work on people? That whole 'sexy shark' routine? Because from where I'm standing, you just look like someone who mistakes cruelty for strength."

Then she'd walked away. Simply turned and left him standing there like he was nobody.

No one had done that to him since he was twelve years old, watching his father backhand his mother across the dinner table while Ethan cowered in the corner. He'd sworn then that he'd never be powerless again. Never be dismissed. Never be nothing.

And Olivia Pearson had made him feel exactly that.

So he'd investigated her. Learned everything. Found her father's vulnerabilities. Engineered the perfect trap.

Sebastian reclined in his leather chair, fingers drumming against his desk as rage and triumph warred within him. His plan was unfolding perfectly. James Pearson was exactly the weak link he'd anticipated-a man whose appetites would keep him perpetually indebted.

The beauty of it was the circularity-a closed system of his own design. Every dollar he "loaned" to James flowed back to his own accounts through the shell companies that owned the very establishments where James gambled. The man was paying Sebastian interest on money that Sebastian would recover anyway.

This wasn't for business.

This was for revenge.

Except somewhere between signing the contract and last night, the revenge had twisted into something else. Something that tasted like obsession.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.