When I opened the box, I saw a small finger stained with blood. I knew it at once as his, for the finger still wore our wedding ring.
It was a rule I had made that if one made a mistake, cutting off a finger could serve as forgiveness.
He had used his own finger to save Emma, begging me to show mercy.
The box crashed hard to the ground, shards of glass scattering across the floor.
Yet Easton would never have thought that the woman he spared with all his strength would still come at me without fear.
Emma sent me a video.
“I heard you have been looking for me. I also want to see you. But Easton cannot bear to let me out; he has been tormenting me day and night.”
The video played like a cruel show. Easton no longer carried the cold restraint he once had. His face was red, his features filled with desire and haste, and beneath him lay a blushing Emma.
With every movement and rough sound, his robe and his so-called vows were torn apart, prayer beads scattering on the ground.
I gripped my phone until my knuckles turned white. All those vows were nothing but lies.