I stood before the camera again. “For Olivia’s sake, I urge Be Windsor, Chole Windsor, or anyone in the Windsor family responsible for this abduction to release her immediately. If harmes to her–no excuses. Green Group will withdraw all cooperation with Windsor Group and pursue legal and


    financial consequences. This goes beyond rumor–it’s an open


    act of hostage taking.”


    The video was posted on all channels, Green Group social media,


    my personal ount, and with the sheriff’s office. Within


    minutes, it spread. Netizens already med the Windsors;


    investors reacted with unease. Banks shifted overnight.


    I also sent direct messages to Windsor’s executive board. “This


    ends with Olivia’s safe return. Anything else will cost you every


    donation, loan, and partnership.”


    Just then, I heard Mike’s voice shaking over the radio. “Sir!


    We’re approaching…there’s the ck SUV. Parked there in


    front of us.”


    I turned, voice low but steady. “What’s its position?”


    Mike leaned forward, lips tight. “Front of neighborhood


    entrance. Appeared around the same time Olivia’s car went in.


    Chaptered


    Stayed there.” He pointed out the tinted windshield of <b>a </b>Chevy


    Malibu parked across the street.


    My gaze narrowed.


    “That’s the suspicious vehicle that drove into the gated


    that.”


    Olivia’s POV


    I woke with a searing pain in my head. Every breath smelled of


    gasoline. Panic flooded as I realized I was lying in my own living


    room–where I and Ethan once built a home. But it felt like a


    tomb.


    My limbs were bound with chemical–grade duct tape. They’d


    silenced my hands and sealed my ankles. Gagged. I couldn’t


    move. Stretching across the floor, the potent smell of petrol


    remained. I tried to call out, but only moist muffles escaped.


    Time lost shape. Seconds—or hours–passed. Then footsteps: the


    soft rasp of heels against hardwood.


    Chole. She appeared in the doorway, silhouetted in the haze. No


    mercy in her gaze.


    “My dear Olivia.” Her voice was winesweet, with poison


    underneath. “d to see you finally woke up.”


    I clenched my jaw in silence. No tears. No pleading.


    She paced slow, the lighter’s me flicking between her


    fingertips, illuminating her features. “You know, I walked past


    this very couch when we were… together. Sleeping next to my


    lover.”


    She clicked the lighter repeatedly, the small orange me


    shuddering. The smell hit me, made me gag. On instinct, I spat


    towards her feet.


    Choleughed–a soft, vicious sound. “You want him back so


    badly, don’t you? And now you’re here. Ground zero. I waited


    three days for you to wake.””


    My lip curled. I remained silent. The me caught a glint in her


    eye.


    She took a slow step closer, lighter wicked with intent. “He’s going to hate you even more once he finds out you died


    tonight.” She blew a short stream of air from her mouth,


    watching the lighter’s wick morph.


    My heart thudded. But I didn’t plead.


    Chole arched an eyebrow. “What a shame,” she said faintly.


    “You’re not begging. Not pleading–just like in marriage, huh?


    You me Ethan, call him cheater, then pretend you deserve


    forgiveness. But look at you now!‘


    With wicked fluidity, she straddled the couch arm, looking


    down at me. She ripped the duct tape from my mouth with a quick downward rip.


    Pain. A sickening crack of skin and sound. Tears sprang behind


    my eyes–but I swallowed them.


    She leaned in, voice cold: “You willget on your kneesandbegfor your life.”


    Olivia’s POV


    The gasoline smell coated the air like poison. My nostrils


    burned. Every breath felt like inhaling threat. Duct tape dug


    into my wrists and ankles, sticky and rough, leaving a rash


    across my skin. I sat slumped in the living room of the house


    Ethan and I once shared–a space that used to mean warmth,


    now drenched in kerosene and fear.


    Chole stood across from me, wild–eyed, flicking a silver lighter


    open and closed.


    Click. me. Click. No me.


    “Three days,” she said, voice lilting with mock patience. “Three


    days I waited for this. I didn’t even let myself shower because I


    wanted you to smell the gasoline before I lit it. Romantic, right?”


    My lips were dry, but I didn’t dare respond. I knew better than to speak when she was performing.


    She circled me slowly, the hem of her coat brushing the floor like a predator pacing a trapped animal. “I thought you’d scream, Liv. Cry. Shout for your precious Ethan. Or maybe that ice–cold boss of yours–what’s his name again?” She sneered.


    “Alexander.”


    I looked up at her. nk. Silent. Unreadable. But inside, Yve


    stirred.


    “Yve, are you there?“I asked mentally, desperate for


    reassurance.


    Her voice came, faint and trembling.” She injected me with wolfsbane. I can’t shift. I’m sorry, Olivia… I’m very weak.”


    ???