Chapter 6

Three days later, Rhea went alone to try on wedding dresses.

Night had already fallen when she stepped out of the boutique. Someone suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth and nose from behind.

A sharp, chemical stench flooded her senses. She struggled, then her vision went dark.

When she woke again, everything was black. Her eyes were covered, and her wrists were bound to a chair, leaving her completely unable to move.

Crack.

The first lash sent her arching forward in agony.

The rough rope bit deep into her wrists, and the blindfold thickened the darkness. She bit through her lip to swallow the scream clawing up her throat.

"You offended someone you should not have," the executioner’s voice sounded distant and hollow.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The whip fell like rain. Each strike tore through the air, splitting skin and flesh.

She clenched her teeth, refusing to cry out.

Who? Who would do this to her?

The beating went on for a long time. It only stopped once her consciousness began to blur.

Then came the sound of a phone call being placed.

"Master, I have carried out what you instructed," the man said respectfully.

From the other end of the line came a familiar male voice.

"Mmm. Send her back."

Just that sentence.

Rhea’s blood froze.

It was Wyatt. Wyatt had ordered this.

Because she had accidentally struck Vera once, he had paid her back with 99 lashes.

Pain and cold swept through her. She could not hold on any longer and slipped into complete darkness.

In the hospital, Rhea lay face down on the bed, the wounds on her back burning fiercely.

Outside the door, nurses whispered.

"That man is so handsome. He is so gentle with his girlfriend…"

"Right? Just a small lash mark, and he is worried sick. Look at the patient in room 304. Covered in injuries and not a single visitor."

Rhea ripped out her IV and braced herself against the wall, inching into the corridor.

Sure enough, outside the VIP room, she saw Wyatt.

He was holding a cup of water, carefully feeding Vera. Vera murmured something in a spoiled tone. Wyatt wiped the water from the corner of her mouth with his thumb, his gaze so tender it could melt steel.

Rhea leaned slowly against the wall, her eyes stinging. She did not understand how, after deciding to let go, her heart could still hurt like this. It was like someone carving into her flesh with a dull blade.

'Don't cry, Rhea,' she told herself, because no one would feel sorry for her.

On the day of her discharge, familiar footsteps sounded behind her the moment she arrived.

Wyatt was back.

They faced each other, each seeing something different reflected in the other’s eyes. They stood in silence until her phone suddenly vibrated.

Victor’s name flashed on the screen.

"Tomorrow is Vera’s birthday celebration." Victor's voice brooked no refusal. "She's been crying in front of me lately, saying she wants to mend things with you. Come and attend."

Rhea sneered. "I'm not going."

"What are you sulking about?" Victor’s tone sharpened. "This may be the last time. The Ashfords have already set the date. After you get married—"

She hung up. Then she looked up at Wyatt, who stood in the shadows. "Do you think I should go?"

The hard lines of his profile looked especially cold under the wall light.

After a few seconds of silence, his voice came low. "You should."

"Fine." She tugged at her lips. "Then I will do as you wish."

The birthday party was held in the glass conservatory of the Vaughn family’s old estate.

When Rhea arrived in a mossy green velvet gown, most of the guests were already there.

Beneath the crystal chandeliers, Vera wore a pink tulle dress, surrounded like a true princess.

"Rhea!" Vera greeted her with delight, moving to link arms.

Rhea sidestepped, her gaze sweeping across the room full of gifts Victor had prepared. Limited-edition Hermes. Tiffany blue boxes. Even the keys to a Porsche.

"Vera has always been sensible. I dote on her the most." Victor stood beside her with a face full of affection, just like years ago.

Back then, he had stood beside Rhea and her mother the same way. She had worn a white dress. Her father had lifted her high into the air while her mother had smiled gently beside them.

Now, everything had changed.

After the cake was cut, guests gradually drifted off in small groups.

One of Vera’s friends, Lydia Prescott, leaned in to gossip. "Vera, so many heirs from prominent families came tonight. Is Mr. Vaughn planning to set you up? I heard you are already engaged to the Ashfords."

Vera smiled faintly and glanced meaningfully toward Rhea in the distance. "That was called off long ago."

"That is good, very good. I heard that the man ended up in a coma. Marrying him would mean being stuck in a marriage with a man who might as well be dead." Lydia wiggled her brows. "There are so many men here tonight. Come on, what is your type?"

Amid the teasing, Vera blushed and began counting on her fingers.

"First, he has to love me deeply. Deep enough to tattoo my name over his heart.

"Second, he has to be brave. I heard that on Moonwatch Cliff, there is a briar rose bush. He must pick a stalk for me.

"Third—"

Before she could finish, the doors of the hall were suddenly pushed open.

"Mr. Wren sends his regards and presents these gifts in honor of Miss Vera’s birthday. May she be well and happy."