Page 63 of Painted Truths

I believe you need a couple of days to think about your transgressions.

I've taken your brother to visit the city until Monday, and when I get back, I expect a full and genuine apology.

In the meantime, I've left you a reminder. You'll find it in your father's study.

Let's call it a small indication of what happens when you don't give me what I want.

Be good.

Mummy

My nerves are on fire, my insides rioting at what could be awaiting me upstairs, and even so, I drop the note and rush towards my “reminder,” knowing undoubtedly it can't be anything good.

Slowly crossing the threshold into my father's private sanctuary, my first thought is how dusty it is. There's but a slit of light entering the space through the barely separated heavy drapes, so I grab them, throwing them back to reveal my punishment—because that’s all my step-monster ever gives me.

In the centre of the dusty desk, there lies Millefeuille’s red collar and another note.

My poor Millefeuille; my last gift from Mum. I can only pray whatever the note says that she’s okay and not another casualty in this war with her.

My gut heaves, threatening to expel a breakfast I've yet to consume as I unfurl the script.

You’re damn lucky that I’ve just re-homed the cat.

Next time, I’ll take away the one person you truly care about.

Throwing my head back to stop the tears that threaten to fall from my eyes at the complete and utter hopeless situation my brother and I are living in, I can't help the words as they cross my mind.

Message received loud and clear, Mummy.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Olivia

Monday rolls around with a bang. A banging fucking headache, that is.

I drank way too much wine with Nola and Jo on Sunday evening while having an Outlander marathon. I ended up entirely too fucking horny from those Jamie and Claire scenes, going home to my empty apartment to scan the internet for the minimal pap shots of one overly smug bastard CEO, who shan’t be named.

Only to find the sight of his sickeningly handsome face turned me on even more. So much more, I couldn’t sleep until having wrung three orgasms from my traitorous body at the memory of his rock hardness beneath my palm.

At the thought of his tongue tangling with mine, stoking the fire of need within me to an almost boiling point.

But it was the memory of that fervour, that longing barely contained within his gaze, that tipped me right over the edge under my own fingertips, all the while thinking they were his.

Turning on my desktop, I’m surprised to find the first of many exchanges over the coming days, considering how we’d left things on Friday.

Sender: Enrico DeMarco, CEO @[email protected]

Recipient: Olivia Parker @[email protected]

Subject: The Big Move

I hope you had a lovely weekend, Miss Parker, and everything went smoothly with your move on Friday.

Thinking of you, H

Sender: Olivia Parker @[email protected]

Recipient: Enrico DeMarco, CEO @[email protected]