Scarlett cried, struggling against the men holding her back. She was forced to watch as another guard unfurled a leather whip. Her panic spiked. “Don’t—please, don’t hurt him! I made the mistake. Leave him alone!”
Ryan didn’t even look at her. His expression was a mask of ice. “Continue.”
The whip cracked across Tristan’s back with a vicious snap. He arched in pain but stayed silent, his body already a map of open wounds. Blood splattered across the floor, spreading in dark streaks.
Scarlett sobbed helplessly, thrashing in her captors’ grip. “Please, I beg you! Don’t do this to him—this is my fault!”
Tristan’s vision blurred, but he still managed to look toward her. His lips moved soundlessly, forming a single message she could read: Don’t be afraid. It’s okay.
Her heart shattered. Her tears wouldn’t stop.
Ryan’s eyes darkened at the sight of the two of them—tragic, clinging to each other like doomed lovers. His voice snapped like thunder. “Harder!”
The whip struck again, harder this time. Tristan’s body gave out; his strength was gone. He collapsed in a pool of blood, his breaths faint and ragged.
Something inside Scarlett shattered.