The other women

The engine of Donovan's car purred like a beast as it arrived at the Sky Tower's underground entrance. Surveillance drones flew hidden above the trees, around the Sky Tower building. Surrounding the building was emptiness—no homes, no shops, no sounds. Just quiet… and the four guards standing nearby, each armed with advanced weapons. Above, the rooftop bar sparkled like a fake crown, and its satellite dish reached out toward the stars.

As his car approached the steel mouth of the subterranean garage, scanners along the outer gate recognised his number plate and biometric signature. The gates opened with mechanical precision.

Inside, the underground parking was unlike any ordinary facility. Sleek, matte-black vehicles lined the rows—models no one had ever seen on the market, as if pulled straight from the year 3000. One vehicle looked like it could hover. Another had no visible doors, just a smooth, black surface.

Donovan's car slowed to a stop. Without a word, the door whooshed open automatically. He stepped out, one foot hitting the floor in polished leather shoes. Before he could even reach to close the door, it sealed itself silently behind him. He adjusted the cuff of his coat, then slid his hands into his trouser pockets, his jaw tight and eyes stormy. His security team brought him a new pair of suits at the Triad hospital once Liora was well attended to by the doctor.

He walked without pause. He reached the elevator and the doors parted before him. There were no buttons or voice commands. Just a thumbprint scanner, cold under his touch. The doors closed, and the world dropped away beneath him. Deeper than the garage.

When the doors opened, a different world unfolded. Flickering bulbs cast a soft yellow light over pipes and wires that ran along the ceiling. His footsteps echoed as he walked, but the sound disappeared into the darkness. Then, he reached a door. A strip of white light shone beneath it.

The door opened, and dozens of screens displayed live feeds: hallways, interrogation cells, vehicle routes, and satellite overlays. Four men stood at attention beside a central table cluttered with digital tablets and biometric logs.

At the sight of him, the entire team rose. Their postures snapped straight like soldiers.

"Sir," they greeted in unison, their voices sharp and disciplined. Donovan gave a nod but said nothing.

His eyes locked onto one of the largest screens. There they were—nine brats. Their heads hung low, but there was no tension in their body.

Another feed showed Peter pacing in another room, restless and sweating.

Then there was this women. The woman who played innocent. The one who threw Liora to the wolves.

She sat on a chair like she owned the place. Her legs were crossed, and her arms were folded. Boredom etched across her painted face as she checked her watch, sighed dramatically, and turned toward the surveillance camera. Her lips curled into a mock pout, and she blew a kiss to whoever was watching.

Donovan's gaze narrowed.

With a face like a cold stone, Donovan exited the surveillance room. His footsteps echoed like a silent judgment day through the corridor. Behind him, the security officers returned to their seats, but the tension he left behind still felt in the air like smoke.

He approached the interrogation chamber. A smooth chime rang as the scanner read his facial signature, and the steel door hissed open.

The woman perked up immediately, tossing her hair back and rising from the couch. Her stilettos clicked sharply against the marble floor as she walked forward with swaying hips. Her confidence reeked of vanity, and her ruby-red lips curled into a sultry smirk.

"Finally," she purred, "Donovan Magnum, in the flesh."

He didn't move. He just stared at her. "Stay where you are," he said in a tone not less than lethal.

She froze in place as he entered fully, the heavy door sealing behind him. His eyes, once grey, now looked blackened with rage—an abyss no one sane dared look into. He walked with a slow, deliberate pace, stopping at the wooden table and leaning back against it. He rolled his sleeves up with quiet menace, the veins on his forearms rising beneath his skin.

"You're the one I gave my reservation to?" he asked, tone like a blade gliding over steel.

"Y-you booked the entire lounge. I thought you would want a company that's… unforgettable." She spun on her heel slowly, arching her back. Her fingers trailed down the curve of her spine, resting on her hips. Then, she bent forward deliberately, glancing over her shoulder as her dress rode up to reveal the whole shape of her large substantial round ass. She smacked it lightly with her palm, smiling. "Don't you want this? I can make you forget everything."

Still, Donovan didn't blink. Then came his voice—quiet and razor-sharp.

"Straighten up. Fix your dress. You look like a desperate dog begging for scraps." It pinched her. "You know what I see when I look at you?" he asked. "A parasite. A plastic-coated shell with a smile carved by vanity and a heart dipped in poison."

"Do not insult me, Donovan. You must be into men. That is why you are not getting turned on seeing a woman like me."

She had always been praised by everyone. The art of seduction was her domain, and she knew how to make men feel utterly satisfied. Men spent on her as if money did not matter. Some even left their wives for her. Donovan must be into men, and that was why he had never been heard of taking a woman to bed.

Donovan laughed. It was dark, mocking, and cruel. "Women?" he echoed, stepping closer, his tone laced with venom. I see no woman here."

His eyes roamed her up and down, not with lust but with disgust.

"Your body means nothing to me. I've seen corpses with more warmth in their skin and more dignity in silence than what you parade in stilettos and silicone."

She swallowed, taking a cautious step back, but Donovan didn't let up. He stalked forward, slow and deliberate, each footfall like thunder on stone.

"You let her get caught between those filths like you. How dare you? You definitely must hate your current life," he said, eyes narrowing into a blade-sharp glare. "Because only someone suicidal would dare harm my Liora."

She opened her mouth to speak, but Donovan raised a hand, halting her.

"You pushed my love into the hands of wolves," he continued, his voice dangerously soft. "Now I'll show you what true hell feels like."

Without taking his eyes off her, he turned slightly to face the surveillance camera and gave a single nod.

Within seconds, the door opened, and in walked the Lady in the Black Dress. Her smile was elegant—terrifyingly elegant. The kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes… the kind of smile you saw right before the world fell apart.

"What are your orders, Capo dei Capi?" her tone smooth as silk.

Donovan spoke without blinking.

"Take her to the plastic surgeon. Strip her down to bone and flesh. Remove every fake inch of her—every silicone, every injection, every lie sewn under her skin. I want her bare."

The woman gasped, stumbling back.

"No painkillers after the operation," Donovan continued coldly. "She will heal without painkiller, and once it's done, once the mask she called a body is gone…" His stare darkened further. "Shave her head. Completely. And send her to the church."

"The church?" the woman echoed in horror.

"And as for the rest, once the silicone enhancements are done for her breasts and bottoms, make sure to give her painkillers. I want her to be alive but compliant. She will live under the watch of the nuns at the Sister's SaintHouse," Donovan stated firmly. This was a place run exclusively by women; no males were allowed to enter. It was as strict as the olden days of the church.

"Her hair should never grow back again. Ensure that it's taken care of. No makeup is allowed—she will wear simple clothes and eat simple food. Strip her of all identity."

Donovan's voice was now ice. "She must repent and reflect on her action until her last breath."

'Liora, you wanted them to reflect on their action. I will make your wish come true.' Donovan said silently in his head.

The Lady in Black bowed her head slightly. "Understood."

The woman dropped to her knees, trembling violently. "Mr. Magnum, please… I-I didn't mean to—I was only—please, don't do this to me—" Her voice cracked as tears streamed down her face. "I'm sorry. I made a mistake. Please…"

But Donovan had already turned his back on her, his eyes dead, expression unreadable.

The door opened and he stepped into the hallway, making his way toward the next room. Where Peter was waiting. And hell hadn't even started yet.