The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 203

Vivian

They moved like predators closing in. I kicked out, my legs a blur of desperate motion, but they were ready. One man lunged, his heavy body landing on my shins, pinning my legs to the dusty floor with brutal efficiency. The other grabbed my waist, his grip like an iron clamp. My hands, bound above my head, strained against the ropes, but I was utterly helpless, stretched and exposed.

"Look at the little fighter," one of them rasped, his breath hot and sour against my cheek.

The harsh sound of tearing fabric was the only answer. A blast of cold, stale air hit my chest as my shirt was ripped open. A low, mocking laugh echoed in the small room. I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of shame so powerful it felt like drowning. His calloused fingers traced a cold, mocking line from my collarbone downward, deliberately slow, savoring my flinch. I felt like a specimen, not a person.

I tried to retreat into a small, dark corner of my mind, to go somewhere else, anywhere else, but there was no escape. I felt a heavy weight press down on my hips, pinning me completely. The world narrowed to the stench of his breath and the crushing weight on my chest. A silent scream was trapped in my throat. This is it. This is how it ends.

Suddenly, a violent bang from the door cut through the air, freezing them in place.

Everyone froze and turned toward the entrance.

A man in his fifties stepped into the room with the casual confidence of someone who owned the place. He was shorter than I'd expected, lean rather than imposing, but there was something in his pale gray eyes that made my skin crawl. His mouth was set in an expression that wasn't quite a smile but suggested he found everything around him mildly amusing—including my current predicament.

The moment he appeared, Dwayne and his thugs immediately stepped back, creating a respectful distance that spoke volumes about the hierarchy at play here.

*Thank God,* I thought desperately. *Finally, someone's going to put a stop to this madness.*

But my relief was short-lived.

"Dad!" Dwayne said, and I could hear the nervousness in his voice. "I didn't expect you. I can handle this situation—"

My heart plummeted. *Dad.* This was Devan Blackwell, the man whose ambition had started this entire nightmare. The puppet master who'd been pulling strings from the shadows while his son did the dirty work.

Devan placed a paternal hand on Dwayne's shoulder, then walked slowly toward me, speaking as if I weren't even there. "It's fine, son. I'm not here to criticize your methods with this traitor."

The word 'traitor' hit like a physical blow, and I felt rage flare in my chest despite my vulnerable position. *Fuck you all.*

Dwayne moved closer to his father, his posture deferential in a way I'd never seen before. "This was my mistake, Dad. I overestimated her intelligence and loyalty. Now our entire operation is compromised, and Orion will be on high alert."

Devan's smile widened slightly, though it never reached his eyes. "Yes, she'll need to pay an appropriate price for that betrayal. But first—" He paused, studying me like I was an interesting specimen. "I want to determine if she has enough remaining value to delay that payment."

I glared at him with all the defiance I could muster. "I have no value left, sorry to disappoint you, old man. Don't expect me to help you with anything ever again."

Devan chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "Is that so?"

He reached out with one cold finger and lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. Then, with theatrical slowness, he gestured around the room at the various instruments of torture that surrounded us.

"This facility," he said conversationally, "is where we bring people who need... encouragement... to share information. You'd be amazed how many competitors—both legitimate businessmen and underworld figures—have knelt in this very room, begging to tell me everything I wanted to know."

My legs began to shake as the full implications of his words sank in. The pliers on the table weren't just rusty—they were stained. The metal restraints showed signs of repeated use. The drain in the floor was positioned perfectly to wash away whatever evidence these sessions might produce.

I found myself unable to speak, my earlier defiance evaporating in the face of such calculated menace.

"There we go," Devan said approvingly. "Cooperation isn't shameful, my dear. Now, tell me everything you've learned about Aveline during your time in that house. Every detail that might be useful to our cause could be the key to keeping you alive."

My mind raced through the weeks I'd spent at Grandmother's house, cataloging information I'd gathered almost without thinking. I knew Aveline's morning routine, the route she took to the office, which flower shop she frequented, what time she usually arrived at Orion's penthouse, which park she favored for outings with Ryan. I'd watched her like a predator studying prey, noting her habits and vulnerabilities.

But now, remembering those observations, I felt nothing but shame. Had I really spent all that time plotting against someone who'd been trying to build a genuine relationship with me?

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the reality of my situation.

But Devan's cold hand gripped my chin again, forcing me to look at him. This time, his voice took on a sickeningly false gentleness.

"Vivian, I know you're fundamentally one of us. I know you only made one mistake. I know my son hasn't always treated you with the respect you deserve." His fingers tightened slightly, just enough to remind me how helpless I was. "But you must understand—your betrayal tonight has cost us dearly."

I wanted to spit in his face, to tell him exactly what I thought of his manipulation, but before I could open my mouth, he pressed his palm over my lips.

"I know that expressing your anger might provide temporary emotional relief," he continued in that same patronizing tone. "But it would also eliminate any possibility of future cooperation between us. And if that happens, every single instrument in this room will eventually be used on you."

My gaze involuntarily swept across the torture devices again. A car battery connected to jumper cables. A blowtorch with a blue flame tip. Knives of various sizes, some clean, others showing signs of recent use. A series of metal clamps that looked designed to cause maximum pain without permanent damage.

I felt bile rise in my throat.

"Think carefully," Devan said, releasing his grip on my face. "I'm giving you twelve hours to consider your options."

"Dad," Dwayne interjected, "twelve hours? That seems generous for someone who—"

Devan silenced him with a cold look. "Trust me, son. Intelligent people usually come to the right conclusion when given time to consider the alternatives."

He turned toward the door, gesturing for Dwayne and the two thugs to follow him. But just before leaving, he paused and spoke without turning around, his voice carrying the casual tone of someone discussing the weather.

"Of course, if she proves to have no useful information after all..." He glanced back at me over his shoulder. "Make sure she pays the full price for her betrayal."

Then, with chilling finality: "And make sure she stays alive long enough to appreciate every moment of that payment."