Chapter 12

As soon as they arrived at the marquis’s mansion, Veyna remains trapped in Wayne’s unrelenting grip as he drags her inside.

Her body is too weak to resist. She could barely feel her own footsteps, nor could she tell where they are heading—or what fate awaits her beyond those doors.

The ride back had been silent, yet the weight of her uncle and aunt’s gazes spoke louder than any words. Their eyes burned with contempt, piercing through her fragile frame like daggers. Meanwhile, Wayne’s arm stayed firmly around her shoulders—not in comfort, but something far more unsettling.

They passed through the grand doors, Veyna struggling to keep up as Wayne drags her forward, forcing her to match the Marquis and Marchioness’s brisk pace.

At last, they halted before the heavy wooden doors of the Marquis’s office.

“Get her in,” he ordered, slipping on his gloves with slow, deliberate movements.

Wayne hesitated for a brief moment before nodding.

“Morgan, bring me my whip.” said the Marquis to his butler.

The words send a jolt of terror through Veyna’s fragile body. Her breath caught in her throat as she turns to her uncle, desperation clouding her gaze.

“No, Marquis… N-no! I’m sorry!” she pleads, her voice trembling as she cling to Wayne’s clothes.

“W-Wayne, please… Please don’t let him do this,” she begged, pressing her palms together in a desperate prayer for mercy.

But Wayne only lowers his gaze, his expression weighs down with sorrow and helplessness.

Then, without a word, he pushes her inside.

He steps back to stand beside the Marchioness in the corner of the office, neither of them making a move to stop what was about to happen. They knows it is useless once the Marquis was consumed by his fury, there is no stopping him.

“H-Help…” she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"U- Uncle..."

The Marquis’s response is merciless. He seized her hair, yanking it back with brutal force before hurling her against the desk. Papers and documents flew to the floor, scattering like fallen leaves.

A sharp pain tears through her spine as her back collided with the edge of the desk. A strangled groan escapes her lips as she crumples to the ground, her body trembling from the impact.

Morgan steps forward, placing the requested whip into the Marquis’s waiting hand.

Veyna slowly lifts her head, her breath shallow and ragged. When her gaze meets her uncle’s, sheer terror clouded her tear-filled eyes. There is no pity, no hesitation in his expression, only cold, unyielding rage.

The whip slices through the air before striking her exposed leg with a sickening crack.

A piercing scream tore from Veyna’s throat as pain exploded across her skin.

The Marquis shows no mercy. He yanks her up by the hair, forcing her to sit upright on the cold floor. Her body trembles violently, but he pays no mind. With deliberate, practiced ease, he reaches for the zipper of her gown, dragging it down and letting the fabric slip from her shoulders, exposing the delicate skin of her back.

Then, the beating truly begin.

Each lash of the whip sears into her flesh, leaving trails of fire in its wake. The room fills with the sharp snap of leather against skin, accompanies by her choked cries. No matter how she screams, no matter how desperately she bega, her uncle remains unmoved, his fury dictating the rhythm of his cruelty.

It hurts…

The pain is unbearable, yet it isn't just her body that is breaking. Something inside her. Something fragile and precious is shattering beyond repair.

Her skin burns, her vision blurs, and her heart… her heart is turning to ice.

Everything is so unfair. So horribly, unbearably unfair.

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