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Marvin kicked open the mansion doors with Oliver struggling wildly in his arms—kicking, screaming, clawing. He didn't flinch. His grip didn't loosen. He moved like a machine possessed.
He slammed open the door to his bedroom and kicked it shut behind him with calculated force. The echo of the lock echoed like a prison sentence.
He tossed Oliver onto the massive, soft bed, her body sinking into the expensive comfort like it was trying to trap her. She scrambled back instantly, breath ragged, eyes blazing.
But Marvin was already there.
One knee on the bed, planted beside her, his body hovered inches above hers. His hand brushed her cheek gently—too gently. His gaze? A storm of heat, obsession, and fury all swirling in deadly calm.
"Baby," he whispered, voice almost tender. "I'm really angry right now."
He leaned closer, breath hot against her skin. "Why can't you see it? I love you. My whole body screams for you. I breathe you, I burn for you. I'm in love with you."
His lips pressed against her neck, trailing kisses to her jaw and cheek. When he reached her lips, she slapped his chest, turning her face away. But Marvin grabbed her chin with quiet authority, holding her still.
Then he bit her lip. Not too hard—just enough to hurt. And when she gasped, he licked it slowly as if soothing it mattered to him.
Without pause, he kissed her again—deeply, hungrily—forcing his tongue into her mouth with a possessive force that was almost desperate. His kiss was wild and brutal, like he wanted to drown her in it.
Oliver pushed him away with everything she had and slapped him again, harder this time.
"You bastard! Don't touch me! You disgust me!" she shouted.
Marvin's expression didn't shift. But his smile did. Twisted. Dark.
"I disgust you?" he murmured. "Then let me disgust you properly."
With deliberate grace, he unfastened the top three buttons of his shirt, revealing his tattooed chest. He climbed over her again, ignoring her struggles, lips brushing her skin with slow obsession. He kissed her face, bit her lip again, traced her jaw like he was memorizing it.
Oliver slapped him again, clawed at his chest, and finally jabbed a finger into the gunshot wound near his side. He gasped—but didn't stop. He laughed.
"You really like it rough, don't you?" he said through gritted teeth, biting down on her neck hard enough to leave a mark. "That's fine, baby. I don't mind bleeding for you."
Her shirt tore beneath his hands, her scream echoing through the room.
"I'll give you the world," Marvin said between kisses. "Make every woman jealous of you. I'll love you and protect you like you're made of glass—no, something rarer than that."
His hand ran along her face. The other traced the curve of her waist. His voice, a whisper against her ear.
"I'll care for you like you're the last priceless thing on this Earth."
And then, Oliver's voice cut through him like a knife.
"I hate you," she hissed. "I wish I never saved you when you were drowning. You should've died."
Everything stopped.
Marvin's lips hovered just above her chest. His hands paused. His eyes slowly looked up at her.
Dead calm.
Empty.
"You wish I had died?" he whispered. "But I didn't. I'm alive. Not all wishes come true."
Then he gave a cold, chilling smile. "Maybe we should have another child. Maybe then… maybe then you won't think of leaving me."
His hands moved again—tearing the rest of her gown and her undergarments, exposing her skin as he kissed down from her belly to the line of her bra.
Oliver struggled harder, screaming, turning her face away—desperate for escape.
And then she saw it.
The fruit plate. The knife.
Hope.
She twisted, yanked her hand free from his grip. As his mouth moved toward her chest, teeth pulling at her bra strap, she grabbed the knife and turned it on herself.
The blade touched her throat.
Marvin froze.
He sat up instantly, his breathing shallow. "Put the knife down," he said softly.
Oliver pressed harder. Blood welled up, a single drop trailing down.
Marvin stood.
Stepped back.
Looked at her… and smiled again.
Then he turned away, calm as ever. "I'll let you rest," he said.
He walked to the door. Locked it behind him with a cold click.
In his own room, silence reigned for one full minute.
Then the sound of shattering glass filled the air as he threw a vase into the wall. His breath came heavy. The butler arrived with the doctor in tow.
Marvin sank into the couch like nothing had happened, chest rising and falling as the doctor treated his wound.
He poured a glass of whiskey. Downed it in one shot.
"After you're done," he said to the doctor, voice flat, "go check on Jake."
Then he turned to the butler. "Make sure she doesn't escape. Take every sharp object out of that room."
He poured himself another drink. And another.
And smiled.
Because Marvin never stopped loving.
And Marvin never let go.
His assistant rushed into the study just as the butler quietly exited, leaving only the doctor, Marvin, and the assistant, James.
"Sir... news," James panted, bowing his head. "Mr. Damien is still alive. The snipers failed. They've been eliminated."
Marvin paused, glass halfway to his lips. He set it down, his expression unreadable. Then—he burst into laughter.
"This is funny," he said, but his voice held no humor. "How many bodyguards were stationed there? How many snipers were in position? And you're telling me Damien not only survived—but had time to summon reinforcements that killed every single sniper?"
James lowered his head further. "Yes, sir. That is what happened."
Marvin chuckled again—cold, slow, dangerous.
"And what did you do?" he asked, eyes flicking to James.
"N-nothing yet, sir. We were waiting for your orders. But... the police are on our tail now."
The wine glass in Marvin's hand shattered in his grip, blood mixing with wine. He rose slowly, then hurled the entire bottle at James's head. James didn't dare move; the bottle smashed against his skull, sending him staggering.
"You're a very good assistant," Marvin growled. "So good you watched an opportunity vanish. Instead of sending wave after wave of men to make sure Damien never walked again—you waited. You waited like a little rat, trembling in a corner!"
His voice rose into a roar.
"Do you want him to recover?! You want him to knock on our doorstep and finish us himself? Are you brain-dead, or is your head stuffed with tofu?"
James trembled, blood trickling down his temple. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I'll do better. I swear—"
Before he could finish, a maid burst in, breathless and terrified. "Sir—Master Jake—his eyes—he's bleeding—!"
Marvin's face darkened instantly. "CALL ALL THE DOCTORS!" he roared. "Call the best! Drag them here if you must—I don't care if they're in surgery, asleep, or at a funeral. They're coming here now. And they're not leaving until Jake is healed."
James turned to run, but Marvin's voice stopped him.
"And James…" Marvin said, his tone suddenly quiet, almost eerily calm. "Never betray me. You know what I do to traitors."
James turned pale as chalk. "Sir—please—I would never. Betraying you is like digging my own grave."
Marvin waved him away like swatting a fly.
As James fled, Marvin turned to the maid. "Tell our men: Damien is to know no peace. Follow him, hunt him, ruin his life. If he so much as sleeps peacefully tonight—I'll deal with you."
The maid swallowed hard and nodded, scurrying off. From the window, a black shadow flitted past into the night.
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Jake's Room
Jake was wailing, clutching his eyes as the nurses panicked, trying to hold him still. Blood dripped from his face.
Marvin entered without a word, calm and cold as stone. He picked up a sedative syringe from the tray, approached Jake, and pulled him into his arms.
"Shhh," he whispered. "Daddy's here."
With one swift motion, he injected Jake. The boy's cries faded into soft gasps.
Marvin's eyes snapped to the trembling nurses. "Instead of calming him, you stood there like chickens. If anything happens to my son—your entire family will be buried with him."
The room froze.
"I'll rip your limbs off, blind your eyes, slice out your tongues—and leave you alive to suffer," he hissed. "Do. Your. Jobs."
As the nurses backed away in fear, Marvin gently laid Jake's head on his lap and began massaging his scalp.
One by one, the best doctors arrived—white coats, pale faces, trembling hands.
The team of elite doctors entered Jake's room with urgency, led by Dr. Hwan, a top ocular transplant surgeon. Marvin sat beside Jake, his jaw tight, cradling his son's head gently on his lap.
Jake's face was pale, trembling. His closed eyes, wrapped in a bandage just moments ago, now bled faintly from the corners, the fabric stained red.
"Fix him," Marvin commanded, without even looking at them.
Dr. Hwan bowed slightly. "Sir, please allow us to assess him immediately."
Marvin shifted, laying Jake carefully on the bed. The doctors moved swiftly, removing the outer bandage with precision. One of the nurses gently dabbed away the blood while another adjusted the oxygen flow to steady Jake's breathing.
Dr. Hwan examined the eye socket with magnifying lenses, inspecting the transplanted eye. "The bleeding is from the sutures at the base of the transplant," he murmured to his team. "He's been crying. It's stressed the optic nerve and surrounding vessels."
He turned to Marvin with caution. "Sir, Jake just underwent a donor eye transplant. Crying this early risks tissue rejection, excessive pressure, or even nerve damage."
Marvin's eyes narrowed. "Will he go blind?"
"No," Dr. Hwan quickly said. "But there will be pain. His eye will feel like it's burning or being pierced for days. It's normal. But if the pressure keeps rising, we risk partial rejection."
Marvin stepped forward, deadly calm. "Then why are you still speaking?"
"Sir, we're administering an anti-rejection serum now," another doctor added, injecting medication near Jake's tear duct. "We're also applying numbing gel, antibiotics, and giving him a second mild sedative. He'll need full rest in a sterile environment for at least ten days. Absolutely no stress, no emotional triggers, no light exposure."
"I want around-the-clock monitoring," Marvin said coldly. "You're not leaving. I want an eye specialist in this room at all hours, rotating every six hours. Nurses on standby. Equipment in place. He will not cry again. If he does, one of you will wish you were in that bed instead."
"Yes, sir," the entire team replied in unison, bowing deeply.
Marvin glared at the butler. "Get UV-blocking curtains. I want this room turned into a controlled treatment zone. If he asks for something and it's not there before he finishes his sentence, fire the whole wing."
Then, he turned back to the doctors, his voice low. "If my son wakes up screaming in pain or goes blind under your care… you'll all leave this house without eyes. Understand?"
"Understood, sir," Dr. Hwan said, visibly sweating.
Marvin gently stroked Jake's hair. "daddy is sorry to have put you True this ".
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