Chapter 1: The Mathematics of Cruelty
Chapter 1: The Mathematics of Cruelty
The first lash felt like a lightning strike against my bare back, splitting the skin and stealing the breath from my lungs. By the fiftieth, the searing agony had blurred into a numb, metallic throb that echoed behind my eyes. I knelt on the cold, imported Italian marble of the grand hall of Blackthorn Manor—a sprawling estate I had unknowingly financed with my own family’s hidden wealth.
My husband, Nathan, stood over me, his face devoid of the charming smile that had once convinced me to marry him. The leather whip in his hand was slick with my blood. He wasn’t just trying to punish me; he was methodically attempting to break my spirit, to erase the woman I was and mold me into a terrified, compliant ghost. The grand hall, usually filled with the warmth of evening sunlight, felt like a cavernous tomb.
"One hundred ninety-eight," Nathan breathed, his chest heaving slightly from the exertion. He paused, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. To him, I was an object, a defective piece of property that required correction. He had cleared the house, dismissed the staff, and shut off the security feeds. He believed he was God in this house. He had no idea how wrong he was.
