Chapter 5: Atonement

Audrey's POV

When our convoy pulled up to the outermost edge of Beverly Hills, the villa my mother left me stood there in silent reproach.

The violets she'd planted in the garden had been hacked away, replaced by gaudy red roses.

I hated red roses. Their blood-red petals reminded me of the crimson that had trickled from the corner of my mother's mouth the day she died.

"Ma'am," William said from the front passenger seat, turning to face me. "Should we have our men force the door?"

I laughed—a bitter sound aimed at my father, Robert Wood. A man who'd climbed to success on his wife's back, murdered her once he'd gotten what he wanted, and seized property that was never his to begin with. Now he thought he could humiliate me with this pathetic display of changing the locks.

But he'd forgotten one crucial detail: this villa had been my mother's property, and after her death, I was its rightful owner with the highest access privileges.

"Have everyone get out of the cars."

I approached the entrance and simply entered the original source code into the security panel. The door opened effortlessly, without alerting anyone inside.

As my bodyguards and I reached the exterior of the living room, I could already hear Lyanna's hoarse crying before we even entered.

"Daddy, you have to punish Audrey severely! She ruined my face!" Lyanna shrieked. I didn't need to see her to imagine how prominently the word "Fornicators" now decorated her features.

My stepmother, Mary White, was consoling her. "My sweetheart, when Audrey gets back, your father will make her kneel on the ground and beg for your forgiveness."

Lyanna's voice turned sinister. "Not just that! I'm going to destroy that seductive face of hers too!"

The sound of boots striking the matte tile floor in perfect unison was enough to announce our arrival.

The bodyguards split into two rows, and I walked through them like a queen, step by deliberate step, until I stood at the front, looking down at this family with contempt.

My father visibly cowered when he saw the armed guards.

"Ma'am," the bodyguards said respectfully, breaking the eerie silence.

Robert's face flushed with rage. "Audrey Anderson! Get over here and kneel down! Apologize to your sister Lyanna!"

Before I could respond, Robert continued his tirade. "You uncultured piece of trash! Who gave you permission to bring these people here? Don't think that having outsiders present will stop me from beating you. You're just as filthy as your mother—"

I drew my handgun and fired at the chandelier hanging above their heads.

Half the fixture shattered, swinging precariously as dust rained down from the impact.

Mary screamed, covering her head with her hands.

My eyes went cold. "Robert, if you can't speak properly, shut your mouth. Let me hear you insult my mother one more time, and my bullet will go through your throat instead."

I turned my gaze to Lyanna, my smile dripping with mockery. "You want me to apologize to her? Are you sleepwalking? A bastard child—your illegitimate daughter born when you rekindled your affair with Mary while my mother was pregnant—she's worthy of receiving my apology?"

Mary covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. "Don't say such things, dear. Your father and I truly love each other—"

"Shut up, you whore!"

I cut her off impatiently.

They still thought I was that child who'd desperately craved parental affection, the fool who'd endured every humiliation because she wanted to be loved. But after they'd abandoned me time and time again, I'd evolved beyond that weakness.

I'd come back to make these bastards pay.

"I won't let you insult my mommy!" A small boy in overalls charged forward, wielding a toy gun. "Bitch, I'm going to kill you!"

Before he could reach me, a bodyguard effortlessly lifted him by his shirt collar. His feet dangled in the air as he flailed uselessly.

Oliver—Robert and Mary's youngest son, six years old and already of kindergarten age.

He'd never once called me his sister. Every time he saw me, he called me "bitch," but Mary always excused his behavior, saying he was just a child and I shouldn't hold it against him.

I walked up to Oliver, dragging the barrel of my gun along his cheek. He bared his teeth at me like a territorial dog defending its ground.

"Oh no," Mary clutched her chest. "Audrey, that's your brother. You can't hurt him. He's just a child—he doesn't mean any harm."

Robert's face turned crimson. "Audrey! Put your brother down!"

"I'll agree to return your mother's urn to you, as long as your brother remains unharmed—"

I fired without hesitation, the bullet tearing through Oliver's calf. His scream was piercing, dissolving into uncontrollable sobs.

What beautiful music. I remembered how in my previous life, when I'd begged them to spare me, Oliver had laughed gleefully as he used his new toy—a knife—to slice through my Achilles tendon, calling me worthless trash.

"Worthless trash," I said, looking down at Oliver as he curled into a ball on the floor. "You and your sister are both living proof of your parents' adultery. How do you like the title 'adulterine child'?"

"I could have the same word tattooed on your face as your sister's."

Oliver's entire body shook with his crying. "Daddy, Mommy, save me..."

"Audrey!" Mary dropped to her knees, her eyes filled with terror and pleading. "I'm begging you, let Oliver go. I'll agree to anything you demand."

"Anything?" I raised an eyebrow, my smile growing sweeter. "Perfect. It's time to settle accounts for everything you owe me."

I snapped my fingers, and several bodyguards broke formation, heading toward the second and third floors.

Robert seemed to grasp my intention and tried to physically block the stairway entrance, but he was tossed aside effortlessly. His face contorted with rage.

"I'm your father, Audrey! This is trespassing! I'll call the police!"

"Don't forget, this is the inheritance my mother left to me," I said, reloading my gun with fresh ammunition. "You tricked me into signing away my inheritance rights. It's time you returned what's mine."

"Even if this goes public, everyone will just say you're nothing but a kept man who coveted his wife's fortune."

"Money or your life. Choose one."

As I raised my weapon, the bodyguards followed suit. Nearly ten gun barrels pointed at the family of four—more than enough to turn them into Swiss cheese.

Robert's fear became palpable. He swallowed hard. "Fine. I agree. But I have one condition—let us leave. I need to take Oliver to a doctor."

"You're in no position to negotiate."

I had William produce the temporary property transfer contract we'd prepared. Only after watching Robert sign his name did I allow William to secure the document.

Let them leave? Absolutely not.

The bodyguards who'd been ransacking the second and third floors emerged carrying a life-sized portrait.

The elegant, dignified woman in the painting was my mother, Isabella Anderson. After this villa had been seized by them, all of my mother's photographs had been destroyed—all except this one, which a loyal maid had hidden in the storage room.

Robert and Mary, who fancied themselves high society, would never set foot in a storage room.

I carefully wiped the dust from the portrait. It had been sealed away for so long that the colors had faded. My gaze hardened with determination.

"I'll let you leave, but first you must kneel before my mother and confess your sins."

"You want me to kneel before a dead woman?!" Robert's voice was shrill with disbelief.

I fired a shot at his feet. "Kneel, or die."

My expressionless face terrified Lyanna. She was the first to approach and kneel. Mary was second. Robert came last, reluctantly dragging himself forward to kneel.

"Confess your wrongdoings. Admit that you're despicable human beings!"

Robert refused to speak, but they wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

Once Oliver was close to death, Robert would say anything to save his son.

I met my mother's gentle eyes in the portrait.

Mother, I hope you're at peace in heaven. I'll send Robert to hell to join you soon—but not yet. I'll torture them slowly, methodically, until they're begging to end their own lives.

I left the bodyguards to supervise their atonement while William and I headed outside.

At the entrance, I found Milos leaning against a silver sports car, sunlight making his black hair even more striking. He looked up when he heard our footsteps.

"Wifey," his voice was gentle, almost tender. "Would you be willing to go on a date with me?"