Rowena’s smile deepened. “To him, you’re nothing more than a tool. A tool to be used and discarded at will. And when a tool no longer works the way its master wants… it must be reforged.”
She rose and reached for a braided rattan whip hanging on the wall. She flicked it through the air; the whip’s hiss made Scarlett flinch.
Scream of agony echoed through the hall as the first crack landed across Scarlett’s back, white-hot pain tearing through her. Skin split; she tasted iron on her tongue.
Rowena’s voice chimed coldly, delighted. “This is for your delusions.”
The next strike landed. “This one’s for your betrayal!”
Third, fourth—the whip kept coming, a black blur biting into flesh again and again.
Rowena’s breathing grew quick, but her words were full of cruel satisfaction. “He’s busy right now with the wedding schedule. He hasn’t a second to spare for you. Even if I beat you to death, he won’t care.”
“He doesn’t care about you.”
Scarlett curled into herself on the floor. Pain roared through her body; Rowena’s words gnawed at her more than the whip. Each welt burned brighter than the last until her back was a bloody mess—no inch of unbroken skin left.