Chapter 401

The shattering explosion of glass pierced the air as the bottle smashed violently at Isabelle's feet.

She gasped sharply, recoiling as razor-sharp fragments sprayed toward her. One particularly jagged piece sliced across her porcelain cheek, leaving a crimson trail.

Blood welled instantly from the wound. Isabelle pressed a trembling hand to her stinging face.

Richard's lips twisted in cruel amusement as he seized her wrist. "Stupid girl!" he spat, alcohol thick on his breath. "Clean this up! Now!"

But Isabelle had inherited her mother's fiery spirit. Despite the pain, she glared back defiantly. "You broke it. You clean it."

Richard's face darkened with rage. "You insolent little brat!"

The whiskey fueling his temper, Richard swung with brutal force. His palm connected with Isabelle's face in a sickening crack.

The impact sent her sprawling onto the shattered glass. Shards embedded in her palms and knees as blood bloomed across her clothes.

Yet Richard felt only vicious satisfaction watching her suffer. To his drunken mind, Isabelle wasn't just a child - she was the living image of Olivia Sinclair, the woman he despised.

For years, Richard had endured humiliation within the Winslow family. Powerless. Disrespected. But now, with this trembling girl before him, he finally felt control.

The woman and boy huddled in the corner watched with familiar terror. They knew Richard's drunken rages well - usually directed at them. Tonight, Isabelle had become his unfortunate target.

The child's whimpers of pain only enraged Richard further. "Shut up!" he roared, striking her again. "Stop your crying! You look just like that whore Olivia - you deserve this!"

"Enough!" A voice like frozen steel cut through the chaos.

Richard froze. That voice - impossible after all these years.

He turned slowly, blood turning to ice in his veins. There, flanked by armed guards, stood Liam Blackwood - alive and glowering with murderous intent.

Richard's legs gave way. He collapsed to the floor, body convulsing with terror. "No... no... you're supposed to be dead!" he babbled incoherently.

The nightmare had returned.