Veronica's mouth opened and closed, then opened again. "I don't understand. I didn't do anything wrong!"
Kieran nodded slowly, just as Damon shut the doors. The young models pressed themselves against the wall, pale and trembling. The cameramen huddled with them, frozen in place like cowards.
One man stood out—the same one who had struck Genesis. A business associate of Veronica's, he looked confused and visibly annoyed.
Kieran stepped forward, the cold smile gone. He knelt in front of Veronica and placed a hand on her cheek. "Of course you didn't," he said softly. "Now go sit in that chair. I'd like to see something."
Veronica's heartbeat thundered in her chest. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Before she could speak, Kieran gently lifted Genesis from her arms, cradling her bridal-style as he rose to his feet.
"Now go sit. I don't like repeating myself."
She hesitated, glancing around. No one moved. No one dared to help her.
With shaky legs, she stood and made her way to the platform. Her throat bobbed with a hard gulp as she stopped in front of the chair.
"Take a seat, Vera."
She turned to look at Kieran, but his face was unreadable.
"Sit."
Amanda watched from the shadows, her heart pounding. She glanced around, but Mika was nowhere to be seen. Unbeknownst to them, Mika had quietly slipped out through a small side door just moments before Kieran arrived.
Veronica sat down, slow and cautious, like a woman walking into her own grave. Her legs folded beneath her as she perched on the edge of the chair. The ropes lay curled on the armrests like waiting serpents.
Kieran gave a nod. "Tie her down."
Massimo didn't hesitate. In two swift strides, he reached her and began securing her wrists. Veronica flinched but didn't resist, her pride smothering her fear—for now.
"You're making a mistake, Kieran," she said, her voice trembling despite the front she tried to keep. "This isn't you."
Kieran said nothing.
He carried Genesis to the corner of the room where a clean rug lay beside a prop couch. Gently, he laid her down, brushing her soaked hair from her face. Her lips were parted, her breathing shallow.
His jaw tightened. Then he looked over his shoulder.
"You," he pointed to one of the frightened models. "Bring me a towel. Now."
The girl bolted, grabbing a clean white cloth from a table nearby and handing it to him with shaking hands.
He took it, then shrugged off his coat and draped it over Genesis. "You're safe now," he whispered, even though she was still unconscious. "No one's touching you again."
Damon, now by the camera setup, was reviewing footage. His face twisted.
"Kieran," he called, turning the monitor. "You need to see this."
Kieran stood and walked over, each step heavy with barely contained rage. The footage played: slow, disturbing clips of Genesis tied to the chair, struggling against the ropes. Veronica's voice issued calm instructions from off-camera. Laughter from the associate followed. Then Genesis screamed—but there was no sound. More images appeared. Her breast exposed. Her face twisted in distress.
Kieran's expression darkened.
Veronica, watching from the chair, began to panic. "It's not what it looks like! She agreed! She said she'd do it!"
"And did I agree to that?" Kieran asked, his voice cold and sharp as glass.
He turned to Damon. "Destroy every image. Burn the equipment."
The associate stepped forward, frowning. "Hold on a damn second. Who the hell are you? Do you know how much I paid for—"
He never finished.
Kieran's fist smashed into his jaw with a sickening crack. The man flew backward, crashing into a lighting stand.
Veronica screamed. The models shrieked.
Kieran turned slowly back to her. "And you…" he hissed. "You thought this was a game. You should've known better."
Tears welled in Veronica's eyes. "I just wanted to help her. I didn't mean to hurt her—"
He laughed. A hollow, cruel sound. "You wanted control. You always do."
Then he glanced at Damon. "Call a doctor to the estate. Quietly. She's not going to a hospital."
He turned back to Genesis and reached to lift her again—but then she stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open.
He froze, then dropped to his knees beside her. "Princess?" he whispered, leaning closer.
She blinked up at him.
He raised a hand to cup her cheek—but she turned away, tears forming in her eyes.
As she moved, something caught his eye.
A handprint on her cheek.
A small cut on her lip.
All hell broke loose.
He stood, eyes blazing. "Who hit her?" he roared.
Everyone flinched. No one spoke.
Kieran smirked, and extended a hand.
A gun was immediately placed in it.
Amanda's eyes widened in horror, tears springing to her eyes. Her breath caught as her life flashed before her eyes.
Then she burst out, voice trembling. "I-It was him! He did it!"
She pointed to the man still groaning on the floor from Kieran's punch.
Kieran turned toward him slowly, eyes glinting with murder.
The man looked up—and saw death in Kieran's gaze.
Kieran stalked toward the man like a predator who had already decided how his prey would die—he just hadn't decided when.
The man scrambled backward on the floor, blood dripping from his busted lip. He tried to lift himself, but his legs trembled too hard to support his weight.
Kieran crouched in front of him, the gun hanging loose in one hand while his other rested on his knee. He tilted his head slightly, that dangerous glint in his eyes—the kind that promised death, but only after agony.
"You hit my woman," Kieran said softly. "Put your filthy hand on her like the rules don't apply to you. Let me remind you of mine."
The man opened his mouth to speak, but Kieran silenced him with a backhand—just one—but enough to split his cheek wide and leave a spray of blood on the floor.
"Speaking's not allowed," Kieran said, standing slowly. "You don't get to talk. Hell, you don't even get to breathe unless I say so."
He turned to Damon. "Take him. Don't kill him. Not yet."
Damon raised an eyebrow. "How long are we playing with him?"
Kieran's smile was ice. "Until he forgets what it's like to have fingers."
The man screamed as Damon hauled him up by the collar, his feet barely brushing the floor. Kieran didn't flinch—he barely blinked. His eyes were already back on Genesis.
She hadn't moved. Her eyes glistened with fresh tears, her lips trembling, her entire body frozen. When he knelt beside her again, she recoiled with a small flinch.
That nearly shattered him.
He tucked the gun into his waistband and reached for her slowly this time, his voice tender and low. "It's me. Just me, baby. No one's ever going to touch you again."
Genesis blinked, her lips parting as if to speak—but no sound came. Just a choked, silent sob.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, brushing her damp hair from her face. "I should've been here sooner."
She looked at him then—really looked—and something in her eyes shifted. Like she wasn't sure whether to fall into his arms or crawl away.
Behind them, Veronica sobbed quietly in the chair, bound and trembling. The ropes dug into her skin, but she didn't dare move.
Kieran didn't spare her a glance.
"Damon," he said coolly, "put her in the car. Take her back to the estate. Tie her to the basement pipe and leave her there. I'll deal with her after I watch this bastard bleed."
Veronica's eyes widened. "Kieran, please—please! I didn't mean to! Please!"
He didn't even turn. "You knew exactly what you were doing," he growled. "And you liked it."
Amanda stood frozen in the corner, horror etched into her face, as Damon grabbed the chair and dragged it—Veronica and all—like she weighed nothing.
Kieran leaned in close to Genesis again, wiping the blood from her lip with the edge of his coat.
"I'll fix this," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "And I'll kill anyone who even thinks about touching you again."
And he meant it.
Even hell wouldn't be far enough to hide them from him.