The new suppressants, small vials of pale blue liquid, felt like a secret victory in Kaelen's pocket. They were a tangible step towards atonement, a quiet rebellion against the System's demand for cruelty. The -30% approval, while fragile, felt like a shield.
The shield shattered the moment her personal comms device buzzed with a specific, dreaded tone. It wasn't a message. It was a direct, encrypted summons.
Magnus Blackwood. Summons: Blackwood Manor. Immediate.
The words were a cold fist around her heart. Immediate. There was no refusing. The twenty-million-dollar deviation had not gone unnoticed. The System's punishment had been a private, physical warning. Her father's would be a public, brutal lesson.
The drive to the Blackwood Manor was a funeral procession. The estate was a monstrous edifice of old stone and modern security, looming against the sky like a fortress. It wasn't a home; it was a seat of power, and it smelled of old money, cold ambition, and repressed violence.
A silent, severe-faced butler led her not to the study, but to the private gymnasium in the east wing. The air here smelled of sweat, leather, and testosterone. This was where the Blackwood heirs settled scores and reinforced the family's brutal hierarchy.
Magnus Blackwood stood in the center of the mats, his sleeves rolled up, his expression not one of anger, but of cold, surgical disappointment. He was holding a practice knife, its edge dulled but its weight very real.
Leaning against a weight rack, smirking, was Cassian. His Dominant Alpha aura was a palpable, gloating pressure in the room. He was already enjoying the show.
"Kaelen," Magnus's voice cut through the silence, flat and hard. "Twenty million dollars."
He didn't ask a question. He stated the figure like a death sentence.
"It was a strategic purchase," Kaelen said, her voice thankfully steady, falling back on the corporate lie she'd prepared. "Acquiring a Vesper asset publicly reinforces our control over the brand and their remaining intellectual property. It sends a message."
"It sends a message that you are emotionally compromised," Magnus countered, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He began to circle her, a predator assessing its prey. "It sends a message that a pretty Omega can make you forget the value of money and the importance of perception. You were not bidding for a company asset. You were bidding for her."
Cassian snorted. "Looked like she had you on a damn leash, little sister. Whimpering and begging for a shiny trinket."
Kaelen ignored him, keeping her eyes on her father. "The perception is one of absolute power. Who else can spend such a sum on a whim?"
"A fool," Magnus stated. He stopped circling. "And Blackwoods are not fools. We are precise. We are controlled. Your mother's memory deserves a stronger heir than a lovesick pup led around by its knot." He finally delivered the financial blow, his voice dripping with contempt. "Even though we are billionaires, we do not waste money as such. The twenty million will be taken off from your inheritance savings. Consider it the price of your sentimentality."
The mention of her mother and the cold finality of the financial penalty were the blows she wasn't prepared for. They stole the air from her lungs.
That was all the opening he needed.
He moved faster than a man his age should have been able to. The back of his hand caught her across the face, a sharp, stinging crack that snapped her head to the side. It wasn't meant to injure deeply; it was meant to humiliate.
"You disappoint me," he said, his voice still chillingly calm.
Then the real punishment began.
It wasn't a fight. It was a lesson. He used the practice knife not to cut, but to strike. Sharp, precise blows to her ribs, her arms, her thighs. Each impact was a burst of white-hot pain designed to bruise, to remind. She tried to block, to deflect, but he was faster, stronger, and decades more experienced in this kind of controlled violence.
Cassian's laughter was a constant, ugly soundtrack. "Not so dominant without your chemicals, are you? Pathetic."
The words were as painful as the blows. He knew. Of course he knew about the Dominion gel. Her secret was just another thing they held over her.
She fell to her knees, gasping, her arms wrapped around her throbbing ribs.
Magnus stood over her, not even breathing heavily. He tossed the practice knife aside. It clattered on the mats.
"You will personally oversee the Bio-Synth yield improvement. You will not fail. And you will remember your place. That Vesper whore is a tool. A reminder of what we lost. You will not elevate her. You will use her. Is that understood?"
Kaelen could only nod, the motion sending a fresh wave of pain through her skull.
"Get out of my sight."
She tried to push herself up, her body screaming in protest. Her legs buckled. From the edge of the mat, Elara moved. Her sister's face was a mask of conflicted neutrality, but she stepped forward and hooked an arm under Kaelen's, helping her stand. It was a small, fleeting gesture of aid, offered and withdrawn so quickly it could be denied, a tiny act of rebellion in the heart of the family's cruelty. Cassian's smirk only widened at the display of perceived weakness.
She stumbled out of the gym, down the long, cold corridors, and out into the night, each step a testament to her failure.
The driver's face remained impassive as he held the car door open for her, his eyes carefully avoiding the fresh, blooming bruises on her face and the way she held herself stiffly.
The ride back to the penthouse was a haze of pain and shame. The System's punishment had been a terrifying internal assault. Her father's was a public branding, a physical map of his disappointment etched onto her skin.
She let herself into the silent, dark penthouse. Sera and Iris were still gone.
She didn't turn on the lights. She limped to the bathroom, leaning heavily on the sink. Flicking on the light, she finally saw the damage. A dark, angry bruise was already spreading across her cheekbone. Another painted her ribs in shades of purple and blue. She was a canvas of pain.
The -50% approval in her mind's eye seemed to mock her. She had tried to do something good, something kind, and the world her family, the System had beaten her back into her designated role.
She was still staring at her broken reflection when she heard the soft hiss of the penthouse door opening. Light from the hallway spilled in.
Sera stood there, silhouetted in the doorway. She was holding a sleeping Iris in her arms. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, taking in Kaelen's disheveled state, the obvious bruises on her face in the mirror's reflection.
Her eyes widened. The sleeping child in her arms forgotten for a moment, she took a step forward, her expression one of pure, unguarded shock.
"Kaelen?" she whispered. "What happened?"
The concern in her voice was real. It was the final blow. Kaelen couldn't speak. She just shook her head, tears of pain, frustration, and utter humiliation finally welling up in her eyes. She had been punished for showing kindness, and now the recipient of that kindness was witnessing the consequences.
The fragile peace was over. The -30% was about to be tested. And Kaelen had never felt more like the villainess trapped in a tragedy she didn't write.