All Chapters of Punish Me, Daddy: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

***Olivia's POV*** I sat on the edge of Chandler’s bed, my mind looping back to Drake. I kept trying to find the lie in those three years, but I couldn’t. I did care about him, my feelings for him weren't fake. But that was the problem. I had spent three years of my life building my entire personality around him. I realized then that I didn't even know what my favorite color was without checking if he liked it first, didn't know what to wear without his opinion, what I wanted to eat without asking what he wanted first. I had wasted so much time being dependent, being safe. A heavy thud from downstairs broke my thoughts. Chandler was home. I stayed where I was, tucked into the sheets of his bed because it was the only place that didn't feel lonely anymore. A few minutes later, the door swung open. His suit jacket was already gone, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his eyes were dark with a tension that made the air in the room turn hot. "Chandler?" I s

***Olivia's POV*** "Give it to me, Olivia," Chandler said. His voice was low and threatening which usually made my knees weak, but right now it just made my skin crawl. He didn't move from the doorway, but I could see the muscles in his jaw ticking. I didn't hand it over. I held the photo tighter, staring at the woman’s bright smile and the boy’s messy ginger curls. He didn't look a thing like Chandler, not the hair, not the skin, but the words on the back don't lie. "Who is she, Chandler? Why is this picture in your wallet?" "Olivia, give me that," he growled, stepping into the room. "No," I snapped, my voice cracking. "I just spent the night in your bed, I... I chose you over Drake. I think I deserve to know why there’s a kid in London calling you 'Daddy' while you're here fucking me." I looked at the woman again. She was stunning. Matured. "Is this Seraphina? The person you had to leave the room to talk to?" He didn't answer. He just kept coming toward me, his hand

***Olivia's POV*** "My car died on the road, Chandler. He just happens to be there," I said, my voice small as I turned away to go to my closet. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and calculating my every move. "I’m moving back to Dad's house today. I’m just here for my things." The mattress did a sound as he stood up. I didn't have to look to know he was moving. The air in the room felt like it was being sucked out, replaced by his overwhelming presence. "You brought him onto my property," he said again. He was right behind me now, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his chest. He didn't touch me, but I could feel him. "The moment you walked out, you went crawling back to him?" he said with pure bitterness, and he was livid, his voice was shaking from it. "At least he’s not a liar like you!" I spun around, my chest heaving as I faced him. "At least he doesn't have a secret kid and a wife in London waiting for him." Chandler’s jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in

***Chandler’s POV*** I tossed the belt aside, the leather hitting the floor with a loud crack that echoed the finality of her submission. Seeing her slumped against the mattress, shaking and breathless, her ass cheeks burning, didn't calm the fire in my gut. The week of rotting in this house, the mental image of that boy waiting for her outside, and the defiance she’d thrown in my face all converged into one singular, violent need. "Ass up," I commanded. I didn't give her time to recover. I reached down my zipper cutting through her sobs. I grabbed her by the hips, my fingers sinking into the soft, flushed skin as I hauled her back toward the edge of the bed. I hovered behind her for a split second, pulling out my cock from its confinement. I was fucking hard, burning with desire. I moved with a sudden, relentless force, claiming her in one heavy, punishing thrust. A muffled, broken cry escaped her as I drove into her easily, my pace fast and uncompromising. There was no

***Olivia’s POV*** The week was a blur of painting and peace. I spent every waking hour in the art room, hunched over canvases until my back ached and my fingers were stained with colors. It was the only way to drown out the noise in my head, but I was also enjoying it, figuring out how it worked and getting excited when ideas sparks up my mind. Whenever Chandler came to the door, I made sure not to look up. I wanted him to feel the distance I was trying so hard to create. "Still at it?" he asked as he leaned against the doorframe. "I’m busy," I muttered, my brush flickering across the canvas. "Go away." "I like watching you paint," he said, ignoring my dismissal. I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and unmoving. "I like the way you look when you're focused. The way you bite your lip when you think you’ve made a mistake. It's hot." I felt a treacherous flutter of warmth in my chest, a feeling that I tried to kill instantly. "There's nothing hot about me looking like a mes