But after the wedding, he surrounded himself only with women Linnea loved and trusted—her relatives, her dearest friends—seducing each of them until she was forced to witness every betrayal.
Once, she had even handed him the condom.
Every vow had been a lie, spun solely to destroy her.
She had learned to meet his cruelty with silence, her heartbreak cooling into numb resignation. But seeing Elowen here still cut like a blade to the ribs.
The pain stole her breath.
Only when Elowen was panting from the exertion of her performance did Soren glance up at Linnea.
“I gave you three minutes,” he said coldly. “You’re late.”
Her body trembled.
He didn’t need to say more. She knelt without protest, moving toward him on her knees.
He ignored her, tossing a whip to Elowen.
“You wanted that last piece of jewelry from the auction, didn’t you? Each strike earns you one item.”
Elowen’s smile was cruel. She swung.
The chili-oil-soaked lash bit deep. Linnea gasped, her tears spilling fast.
Once, she had promised this girl, “Elowen, don’t be afraid. From today, I’m your sister. My parents are your parents.”
Now that same girl struck her with glee.