Accidental Marriage with the CEO: Unwanted Bride-Chapter 51: Whip her

On her way back to her room, Patricia couldn’t stop sighing, her mind racing with questions and spinning through one anxious thought after another. What was Roman planning? How exactly was he going to introduce her to everyone? She needed answers,but all she had was the gnawing uncertainty chewing away at her nerves.

"That’s her. Get her."

The command sliced through the air, sharp and unexpected. Patricia’s head snapped up, her frown deepening as two maids began striding toward her with purpose. At first, she assumed they were after someone else and turned to look behind her. But when she saw no one there, and noticed how their eyes were fixed on her, her pulse spiked.

"What do you want?" She asked, panic creeping into her voice.

But the maids said nothing. Before she could retreat, each one grabbed her by the arm. Patricia gasped and immediately began to fight back, struggling against their grip.

"Let me go!" She screamed, twisting and thrashing, but they held firm. The lead maid gave a subtle nod, and the two women began dragging Patricia down the hallway like she was nothing more than a piece of cargo.

"Where are you taking me?!" She shouted, digging her heels into the floor, her voice ringing with desperation. But the maids remained silent, their grip unrelenting as they hauled her forward, indifferent to her resistance.

Eventually, they reached a room. One of the maids flung open the door, and Patricia stumbled inside. It was a massive glass room, cold, elegant, and designed to intimidate. Her eyes darted around, taking in the faces gathered there. Her heart dropped.

At the center of the room sat her grandmother, the one they all called the old woman. Patricia’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes then swept across the room, catching sight of every familiar, unwelcome face.

Of course, she thought bitterly. She should have known. Only one group on this yacht would orchestrate something like this, her audacious, overbearing family.

"Ohh, Big Sis thinks she’s above us now that she’s married a very wealthy man," Clara sneered, her tone dripping with spite as she clung to her mother’s hand like a child seeking validation.

"If I had known you would grow into such an ungrateful daughter, I never would have bothered raising you," her stepmother hissed, voice sharp with mock hurt. "You didn’t even come to greet your family."

Patricia almost laughed out loud. Raise her? More like made her life miserable. If there were a word more venomous than ’miserable,’ it would barely scratch the surface of what that woman put her through.

"I am married to the Blackthorn now. That makes them my family. A greeting is not mandatory, it could have waited until we met naturally," Patricia said coolly, tugging her nightgown straight, every inch of her voice laced with control.

The old woman let out a dark chuckle.

"You have finally grown some courage," she said, her eyes narrowing with interest. "I like this version of you better."

Patricia wasn’t sure whether it was a genuine compliment or veiled sarcasm. Probably the latter. The old woman had never given her so much as a kind glance, not even during all those years she excelled in school. No, it had always been Clara basking in the praise, whether she deserved it or not.

Patricia stayed silent, watching them all closely, waiting.

"Even if you despise us," her father finally said, "what about your mother? She’s been worried sick about you."

He gestured to a corner of the room where her mother stood, frail and wilted, her head bowed like a flower deprived of sunlight.

Patricia’s chest tightened at the sight. Her mother looked even worse than the last time she saw her, pale, worn down, a ghost of the woman she once was. But Patricia forced herself to feel nothing. That woman had made her choices. If she had only stood up for herself, stood up for them, if she had claimed her rightful place as the legal wife and mother, maybe things would have been different.

But she hadn’t.

And now, no matter how much it pained Patricia to see her that way, she reminded herself: she owed that woman nothing. Not anymore.

"How is the baby plan coming along? Any progress with your husband yet?" The old woman asked, her tone laced with cold curiosity.

Patricia’s heart skipped a beat. That was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to face her family, she knew this question was inevitable. But she was done hiding behind fear.

"I will be divorcing Roman Blackthorn very soon," she said clearly, every word deliberate. "And there will be no childbearing until then. If you are so eager for a grandson, wait for your favorite granddaughter to marry her fiancé." She turned to Clara, whose face had already twisted in annoyance.

"My wedding is still a month away. You don’t need to worry about it," Clara snapped, voice sharp with contempt. "You are the one living in delusion if you think you can divorce Roman without grandma’s say-so. You are never escaping this marriage."

The bitterness in her voice chipped away at Patricia’s confidence. She had considered that possibility. Roman had warned her too. Still, she clung to the hope that he would honor their deal, and that she would find a way out.

"Perhaps you didn’t get your grandmother clearly," Lisa, her stepmother, said, arms crossed, voice smug. "She might not have approved this marriage, but she decides how it ends. You have one month to get pregnant. If you don’t, she will marry you off to an old man. I am sure you will enjoy that."

Patricia’s head snapped toward the old woman, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. Was that true?

"Have you consummated the marriage?" The old woman asked casually, as if discussing the weather.

"No," Patricia replied flatly. "And I will not be getting pregnant, no matter what. I will get the divorce, even if it means going against you."

Her voice was sharp, final, and for a second, the room stilled. Even the most vicious among them looked caught off guard.

The old woman let out a slow, humorless laugh. "Then I believe it’s time for a reminder," she said, eyes gleaming.

She turned toward the maids who had dragged Patricia in earlier. They were already moving, as if they had anticipated the signal.

Patricia braced herself, expecting the pain she had come to know so well. But the maids walked past her.

Confused, she turned to follow their path, then froze in horror as they seized her mother.

"What are you doing?!" She cried, stepping forward. "She has nothing to do with this!"

A maid blocked her path, cutting off her view.

"I thought you didn’t care about her," the old woman said, smiling cruelly. "Whip her."

"No!" Patricia screamed, fury overtaking her panic. "No, let her go!"

She struggled, but the maid held her back with ease. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the first whip cracked through the air. Her mother’s cry echoed through the room, shattering whatever resolve Patricia had left.

"Stop! Please, STOP!" she shouted, her voice raw, eyes wide with helpless rage.

After a few more lashes, the old woman raised her hand. The maids stepped back.

Patricia sagged in relief, but her muscles were still trembling.

"So," the old woman asked coldly, "what’s it going to be?"

"I will never give you what you want," Patricia spat, her voice seething. "I am the one defying you. Beat me all you want, but I promise, you won’t get what you are after."

The old woman didn’t reply. She simply waved her hand again.

This time, the maids descended on Patricia. They forced her to her knees, and the whipping began.

"No! Patricia, no! Whip me instead! Leave my daughter alone!" Her mother screamed, pushing forward, only to be restrained again.

Patricia gritted her teeth, tears burning in her eyes, but not from the pain.

It was hatred. The fury. The fire of being forced to fight this war alone, again.

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