Zane had seen these scars before. The first time, he'd kissed every inch of them.
"That must have hurt so much," he'd whispered, voice cracking.
"Not anymore." He'd held me tight. "Madeline, I swear—it'll never hurt again."
Now he just turned away, irritated.
"How many times are you going to drag up ancient history? You've gotten way too disobedient. Looks like I need to teach you a lesson."
He pinned me down and forced a glass of drugged water down my throat.
As the flush crept across my skin, he stroked my cheek gently.
"Relax, Madeline. Just a few photos. Stay obedient like you used to—no fighting, no competing—and no one else will ever see them."
My limbs went slack. I stared up at him, pleading.
He ignored me completely, dressing me in a crimson robe, arranging my body into pose after pose.
The shutter clicked again and again.
Zane pulled my clothes back on after the last shudder left him, tucked the blanket around me, and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
"Sleep, honey. Good night."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Ten minutes later, Olivia stood at the foot of my bed—flanked by the same four men who'd dragged me here.