he Day He Chose Her Over Our Dying Son, I Chose Vengeance - Chapter 32: Chapter 32
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Sophia was shooting her new movie, and Blake had been glued to her side the whole time.
I pushed open the heavy soundproof door and found the set completely empty.
Then—BAM—the metal door slammed shut behind me.
Three guys in crew uniforms crawled out of the shadows.
"Mrs. Harrison, right? Someone wants us to shoot an extra scene with you."
It clicked instantly.
Fucking Sophia.
I backed up and slammed into a prop rack. My pepper spray tumbled out of my bag.
The men howled with laughter as one of them kicked it across the floor.
"Chill out, sweetheart. This scene's gonna be real simple. Client says we gotta get everything on camera, nice and clear."
I grabbed a prop knife and lunged, only to get a backhand across my face that sent me flying.
By nightfall, I was dragging myself out of the studio, barely standing.
My phone lit up with Sophia's texts:
"Video came out sooooo good! Wanna see? Blake's enjoying it right now!"
"FYI, Blake personally cleared the set today. He's watching the playback as we speak!"
"Oh btw, Blake's been in MY bed all day! He was right next to me when I sent that message, babe!"
The night wind hit my ripped clothes, showing off the dried blood on my legs.
I dropped to the ground and buried my face in my knees.
So Blake knew—he was cool with it.
All this time, I thought his torture and humiliation were just payback.
Never in a million years did I think he'd let people do THIS to me.
Blood dripped from my split lip onto the cold studio floor.
My mind flashed back to that summer night four years ago.
We were at this packed BBQ stand when some drunk asshole grabbed my waist. Blake smashed a beer bottle over his head without hesitation.
The guy was begging, face covered in blood, but Blake went full beast mode, breaking two ribs before he'd stop punching.
I had to wrap my arms around him from behind, shaking like a leaf as I begged, "Stop, Blake. You're freaking me out."
Only then did he stop, spinning around to hold me tight, his voice so raw I barely recognized it.
"Anyone touches you, I'll end them. Period."
And now? The same guy who once beat someone bloody for me had paid men to destroy me.
My hands shook as I pulled out my phone.
The second Blake's screen lit up with my text, his heart skipped a beat.
"Blake, why the hell won't you just let me go?"
"Do you hate me or can't you get over me?"
"Is my death the only thing that'll make you happy?"
Every word felt like a knife to his chest.
He stared at the message, his eyebrows knitting together.
This didn't sound like it was even about today's apology meeting—what the hell is going on?
Last night flashed through his mind—his hands around my throat, the look in my eyes.
Beyond the hate, there was something else he couldn't pin down. He glanced at Sophia, who was slicking on lipstick in the mirror.
"Evelyn's not at the studio yet?"
Sophia's hand froze for a split second before she plastered on that sugary smile.
"Why are you suddenly asking about her? Forget that bitch—let's check out yesterday's footage, okay?"
Blake didn't budge.
He looked back at his phone, scrolling up to find that message about Studio 7.
He scrolled higher and saw my text asking to meet.
Blake jumped to his feet, suddenly dead certain he hadn't sent Evelyn any messages today.
Thirty minutes later, he burst into Studio 7 to find it completely empty.
The dim studio floor? Covered in torn clothes scraps—nothing but shreds.
Then he spotted it—dark red bloodstains.
His heart sank—hard.
Then his phone buzzed—a text from his assistant.
I pushed open the heavy soundproof door and found the set completely empty.
Then—BAM—the metal door slammed shut behind me.
Three guys in crew uniforms crawled out of the shadows.
"Mrs. Harrison, right? Someone wants us to shoot an extra scene with you."
It clicked instantly.
Fucking Sophia.
I backed up and slammed into a prop rack. My pepper spray tumbled out of my bag.
The men howled with laughter as one of them kicked it across the floor.
"Chill out, sweetheart. This scene's gonna be real simple. Client says we gotta get everything on camera, nice and clear."
I grabbed a prop knife and lunged, only to get a backhand across my face that sent me flying.
By nightfall, I was dragging myself out of the studio, barely standing.
My phone lit up with Sophia's texts:
"Video came out sooooo good! Wanna see? Blake's enjoying it right now!"
"FYI, Blake personally cleared the set today. He's watching the playback as we speak!"
"Oh btw, Blake's been in MY bed all day! He was right next to me when I sent that message, babe!"
The night wind hit my ripped clothes, showing off the dried blood on my legs.
I dropped to the ground and buried my face in my knees.
So Blake knew—he was cool with it.
All this time, I thought his torture and humiliation were just payback.
Never in a million years did I think he'd let people do THIS to me.
Blood dripped from my split lip onto the cold studio floor.
My mind flashed back to that summer night four years ago.
We were at this packed BBQ stand when some drunk asshole grabbed my waist. Blake smashed a beer bottle over his head without hesitation.
The guy was begging, face covered in blood, but Blake went full beast mode, breaking two ribs before he'd stop punching.
I had to wrap my arms around him from behind, shaking like a leaf as I begged, "Stop, Blake. You're freaking me out."
Only then did he stop, spinning around to hold me tight, his voice so raw I barely recognized it.
"Anyone touches you, I'll end them. Period."
And now? The same guy who once beat someone bloody for me had paid men to destroy me.
My hands shook as I pulled out my phone.
The second Blake's screen lit up with my text, his heart skipped a beat.
"Blake, why the hell won't you just let me go?"
"Do you hate me or can't you get over me?"
"Is my death the only thing that'll make you happy?"
Every word felt like a knife to his chest.
He stared at the message, his eyebrows knitting together.
This didn't sound like it was even about today's apology meeting—what the hell is going on?
Last night flashed through his mind—his hands around my throat, the look in my eyes.
Beyond the hate, there was something else he couldn't pin down. He glanced at Sophia, who was slicking on lipstick in the mirror.
"Evelyn's not at the studio yet?"
Sophia's hand froze for a split second before she plastered on that sugary smile.
"Why are you suddenly asking about her? Forget that bitch—let's check out yesterday's footage, okay?"
Blake didn't budge.
He looked back at his phone, scrolling up to find that message about Studio 7.
He scrolled higher and saw my text asking to meet.
Blake jumped to his feet, suddenly dead certain he hadn't sent Evelyn any messages today.
Thirty minutes later, he burst into Studio 7 to find it completely empty.
The dim studio floor? Covered in torn clothes scraps—nothing but shreds.
Then he spotted it—dark red bloodstains.
His heart sank—hard.
Then his phone buzzed—a text from his assistant.
End of he Day He Chose Her Over Our Dying Son, I Chose Vengeance Chapter 32. Continue reading Chapter 33 or return to he Day He Chose Her Over Our Dying Son, I Chose Vengeance book page.