Revenge After Divorce by Black Rose

Chapter 263

OLIVIA

It had been two days since Xander left, two days without food or water. My body had grown weaker with each passing hour, and I could feel every ache in my bones, every crack in my spirit. But there was a small sliver of hope amidst the physical torment: the sedative he had used to paralyze me was finally starting to wear off. I could feel a slight tingle in my legs when I pinched them hard, nothing much, but enough to give me the faintest

glimmer of relief. Soon, I would be able to move again.

That is, if I didn’t collapse from thirst and hunger first.

The worst part of being in that hellhole wasn’t the paralysis. It was the silence. The uncertainty. I had no way of knowing if it was day or night. Time had ceased to exist in that dark, suffocating tomb, and with each passing moment, I felt like I was slipping further from reality. I was literally buried alive, a prisoner in a catacomb of stone, with no one to help me, no one to hear my screams.

they must have been searching for me. My heart ached at the thought of them, but

again. I had learned to be stronger, more careful, more vigilant. But here I was, trapped in the worst place I could ever imagine. At least in jail, people knew where I was. There was a chance for rescue. But this? This was like living in a grave, a tomb where no one could reach me. I was like

damp hole had made me realize something deep within myself. I wasn’t afraid of death anymore. Not in the way I had once been. But what terrified me more than anything was the thought of dying without anyone knowing, without anyone caring. To be buried alone in this tomb with nothing but my own thoughts. What if I died here? How would my children ever know where I was? How would Nick ever know the truth? I wanted them

to remember me the way

died here, in the dark, forgotten by the

thoughts when I heard the sound of footsteps approaching. For a moment, I felt a rush of relief, thinking it might be someone coming

meant that at least I wouldn’t die alone in that place. He had a cruel way of showing it, but there was a strange comfort in

crying?” he asked, his voice cold and detached, as if my pain were nothing

to him.

relief and bitterness. “I’m just thirsty and hungry,” I said, my voice hoarse and weak, the words scraping