Chapter 3

The Martinez family villa, living room brightly lit.

I sat on the main sofa, playing with a thick red paint marker in my hand.

Victoria was dragged in by two bodyguards.

"Let go of me! Do you know who I am?!"

The bodyguards showed no mercy, pressing her down to the floor.

Victoria struggled desperately, her high heels scraping noisily against the ground.

Looking up and seeing it was me, she screamed, "Amelia! Are you crazy? This is kidnapping! It's illegal! Michael will be here any minute! If he sees you treating me like this, he'll never let you get away with it!"

"Never let me get away with it?"

I chuckled softly and stood up from the sofa.

With a "pop," I pulled off the marker's cap.

I walked toward her step by step.

Victoria looked at the marker in my hand, confusion flickering in her eyes.

"What... what are you doing? Amelia, I'm warning you..."

I didn't give her a chance to keep talking. My left hand grabbed her chin hard, forcing her face upward.

"Don't move." My tone was so gentle it was creepy. "You face is too boring. I'm doing your a favor."

The cold marker tip touched her smooth forehead.

Victoria frantically tried to twist her head away, but I had her jaw locked tight. She couldn't move, just making these pathetic muffled sounds.

The rough marker tip scraped against her skin, leaving bright red marks.

On her forehead, I carefully wrote one word—

"BITCH."

"Ahhhh!!!"

Victoria screamed in complete breakdown.

I didn't react. The marker tip slid down her cheek, across her trembling neck, finally landing on her white dress.

"This dress looks expensive. Did Michael bought if for you?"

I asked while writing, my movements rough and forceful.

The marker made scratching sounds against the fabric.

Chest, waist, hem.

I covered her dress with the same word over and over.

"BITCH" in various sizes, shockingly red.

Victoria went from cursing and screaming to just trembling and sobbing.

She collapsed on the floor, covered in red words, looking like a broken rag doll that got tossed around and trashed.

I finished the last stroke and casually tossed the marker onto her.

I wiped my fingers slowly, looking down at the mentally broken Victoria, my tone flat. "This word was your gift to me. I don't like it, so now I'm returning it to you with interest."

Victoria's sobs came in broken gasps.

The door was pushed open again, and Michael appeared in the doorway.

His eyes swept over Victoria, covered in red words and shaking, then landed on me, calm and composed.

His expression was complicated.