The Rohan estate stayed lit all night.
Lena sat frozen on the couch, nails digging so deep into her palms they drew blood. She didn’t feel a thing. Just stared at the clock as it crawled from midnight to seven a.m.
The second it chimed, hurried footsteps echoed outside.
Andrew stormed in, eyes blazing with pure rage. A chill ran down Lena’s spine.
He took a whip from a servant and stepped toward her, slow and deliberate.
“Lena Clermont, do you realize Nicole and the baby almost died?”
Baby?
Nicole was pregnant?
Shock crashed over her—but then, clarity.
Right. In her past life, she’d been the one pregnant at this exact moment.
But this time, she’d been the one to shove Nicole into Andrew’s arms.
So of course, now it was Nicole carrying his child.
No time to dwell on it.
Andrew stood there, ready to use his so-called “disciplinary punishment” just to vent Nicole’s anger. Lena’s eyes burned red as she fought to explain.
“I didn’t touch the dress. I never tried to hurt her. From the kidnapping to the letters at the banquet, and now this—don’t you think it’s all TOO much of a coincidence? If I was really framing her, would I succeed EVERY time?”
She thought Andrew, always cautious, would at least start connecting the dots.
But he was too far gone, his voice ice-cold.
“So what, you’re saying Nicole set you up? I love her. I’m marrying her. Why would she even bother?”
That was exactly what Lena couldn’t understand. “I don’t kn—”
A sharp cry tore from her lips.
The whip had already struck.
“Lena, you’re truly beyond saving.”
Her face drained of color. A bitter smile tugged at her lips.
Of course. Nicole was the one he’d always protect. So why had she even dared to hope he’d believe her?
She wanted to run, but the bodyguards were faster. They shoved her to the ground.
Another lash cut through the air.
Andrew’s voice was ice. “Do you admit your guilt?”
Pain ripped through her, but she clenched her hands tight, refusing to make a sound.
Andrew’s expression darkened at her defiance. The whip cracked down again, this time across her back.
“I’ll ask one more time—do you admit it?”
Lena lay there, lips sealed. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Why should she confess?
Andrew’s patience snapped. The whip lashed her over and over.
Skin split. Blood seeped through her clothes. Still, she didn’t break.
In the end, it was Jeffrey, the butler, who stepped in, grabbing Andrew’s wrist. “Sir, if this continues, she won’t survive…”
Only then did Andrew stop. He tossed the whip aside, his face cold.
“Lena Clermont, don’t let there be a next time.”
Her head slumped forward.
Unconscious.
***
For days, Andrew didn’t come home.
Meanwhile, Lena was stuck in bed, too wrecked by pain to move. It took days before she could finally stand again.
