Lahat ng Kabanata ng Damien's Willing Captive : Kabanata 191 - Kabanata 200

Horace Villa****Olivia Horace killed the engine and remained behind the wheel, hands still curled tight around it long after the key was out. The small villa loomed in front of her like a tombstone marking the exact spot where her family had died…even though she and her father were still breathing. The house looked abandoned from the outside: grass tall enough to brush the bottom of the windows, ivy strangling the porch rails, the once-bright blue paint now faded to a sickly gray. No lights glowed in the windows. No smoke curled from the chimney. Just silence so thick it pressed against the glass of her car.She closed her eyes and let the memories rush in, sharp and merciless.Laughter spilling out the open front door on summer evenings. Her mother’s voice calling them in for dinner, the smell of barbecue thick in the air. Her father rocking on the porch, pretending to read the paper but really watching them all with that quiet, proud smile he used to wear like a second skin. Her

Horace Villa****Olivia’s face went from pale to flushed red in seconds, like someone had flipped a switch inside her. She gripped the phone so tight her knuckles turned white, and without a word she started pacing the living room…fast, angry steps that slapped against the old wooden floor. Back and forth, back and forth, like a tiger stuck in a cage too small for its rage.Osmond watched her for a second, eyebrows drawn together. “Olivia,” he said, voice low but sharp. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”She didn’t even look at him. Just kept pacing, phone glued to her ear, lips pressed into a thin, furious line.He tried again, louder. “Olivia! Fucking say something!”Still nothing. Whatever was being said on the other end had her completely locked in, eyes wide, breathing shallow and quick.Osmond’s patience snapped. He jerked his chin at one of his men…the biggest one, built like a refrigerator with arms. The guy stepped forward without a word. Olivia saw him coming too late…she twist

Horace Villa****But it was.Out on the patio, lit by the harsh glow of the security lights, lay a crumpled bundle that shouldn't exist. A bloodied piece of cloth…stained with rusty, dried blood…and right beside it, glinting under the moon, a knife. The knife. The one Olivia had gripped so tightly that night, the one she'd plunged into Cleo's body over and over after choking the life out of her.Olivia's breath caught in her throat. She bolted for the door, yanking it open with a force that made the hinges creak. The cold evening air hit her like a slap, but she didn't stop until she was right outside, skidding to a halt just beyond the threshold. Her mouth fell open, wide and frozen in shock, as she stared down at the horror in front of her. Speechless. Utterly speechless. The world narrowed to that bundle…what looked like the top Cleo had been wearing that day, the simple black blouse now torn and crusted with blood that had once been fresh and warm.The others piled out after her

Isabella’s POVThe TV was still frozen on that last frozen frame…the chaotic swarm of reporters and protesters outside the precinct…when the feed suddenly jolted back to life.A black cargo van had screeched to a stop right in front of the station steps. The side door flew open. Two figures…hooded, moving fast…shoved a bound woman out onto the concrete. She hit the ground hard on her knees, hands zip-tied behind her back, ankles bound together, duct tape wrapped tight across her mouth. A large white poster board was duct-taped to her chest in big black marker letters:I AM THE MASTERMINDThe van peeled away before anyone could react.The crowd exploded.Reporters surged forward like a tidal wave, cameras flashing, microphones thrusting toward her face. Phones were held high, live-streaming everything. Protesters pushed against the barriers, screaming questions. “Who are you?!” “Why did you target Damien Voss?!” “Talk!”The woman struggled against the restraints, muffled sounds coming

Isabella’s POVThat smile.It wasn’t nervous. It wasn’t broken. It was the kind of calm, satisfied curve that makes your skin crawl…like the final girl in a horror movie who turns out to be the killer. Agnes said it first, voice low and venomous.“Why the hell is that bitch smiling like a damn Annabelle doll come to life?”Nobody answered. We couldn’t. Every eye in the room was glued to the screen, hearts hammering in sync.The room on TV was chaos controlled. Reporters packed shoulder-to-shoulder, mics thrust forward like weapons, flashes popping nonstop. One of the officers…a tall, no-nonsense woman with a tight bun…stepped up to the podium first and raised both hands.“Quiet!” she barked, voice cutting through the noise like a whip. “This is an emergency press briefing. No interruptions. No questions until the statement is complete. Anyone who speaks out of turn will be removed immediately. We want this over fast. Understood?”A low grumble rolled through the crowd, but they settle