Tristan clenched his jaw, sweat pouring down his face. He didn’t make a sound. Not a single plea.
“No!”
Scarlett cried, struggling against the men holding her back. She was forced to watch as another guard unfurled a leather whip. Her panic spiked. “Don’t—please, don’t hurt him! I made the mistake. Leave him alone!”
Ryan didn’t even look at her. His expression was a mask of ice. “Continue.”
The whip cracked across Tristan’s back with a vicious snap. He arched in pain but stayed silent, his body already a map of open wounds. Blood splattered across the floor, spreading in dark streaks.
Scarlett sobbed helplessly, thrashing in her captors’ grip. “Please, I beg you! Don’t do this to him—this is my fault!”
Tristan’s vision blurred, but he still managed to look toward her. His lips moved soundlessly, forming a single message she could read: Don’t be afraid. It’s okay.
Her heart shattered. Her tears wouldn’t stop.
Ryan’s eyes darkened at the sight of the two of them—tragic, clinging to each other like doomed lovers. His voice snapped like thunder. “Harder!”
The whip struck again, harder this time. Tristan’s body gave out; his strength was gone. He collapsed in a pool of blood, his breaths faint and ragged.
Something inside Scarlett shattered.
With a wild burst of strength, she tore free of the guards restraining her and threw herself over Tristan’s body. The whip landed squarely on her back instead, the pain blinding—but she refused to move.
The executioner hesitated, looking at Ryan for orders.
“Scarlett,” Ryan’s voice cut low. “Move.”
But she lunged, yanking the pistol from the holster strapped to a guard’s leg. In a heartbeat, she had the gun aimed straight at Ryan.
Her hands shook, but her eyes burned with defiance. “Let him go,” she demanded, her voice raw and fierce. “Or I swear to God, you won’t walk out of here alive.”
Ryan leaned back in his chair, a dangerous smile tugging at his lips. “Then shoot.”
Her finger tightened on the trigger—but she didn’t pull it. Instead, with a sudden shift, she turned the gun on herself, pressing the barrel against her temple.
She was gambling.
She cared for Tristan enough not to pull the trigger on Ryan. But did Ryan care enough about her not to watch her die?
Ryan’s eyes narrowed.
Scarlett’s whole body trembled, but her voice was steady. “You let him go. Or the only thing you’ll have left of me is a corpse.”