No wonder Victor Kane had bet she’d only live seven days—seven counted down to his wedding.
Scarlett spun and fled, but her body betrayed her. She stumbled and crashed to the ground with a painful thud.
“Who’s there?” Ryan’s voice sliced through the night, cold and precise. Footsteps closed fast. Scarlett tried to push herself up, but a shadow fell over her before she could move.
He stood above her now, looking down with eyes that belonged to a stranger.
“Who let you out?” he demanded.
Scarlett forced herself to meet his eyes. “Nobody. I escaped on my own.”
She wouldn’t drag Tristan into this. Whatever consequences came, she would bear alone.
Ryan let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Looks like the water prison didn’t teach you anything. Still lying.”
Rowena glided forward, smile sweet but eyes sharp as knives. She crouched just enough to look down at Scarlett, voice syrup-smooth. “Children who misbehave need a little teaching.”
Ryan gave a flat, approving hum. “Then put her in the family chapel.”
Two men stepped up and hauled the nearly unconscious Scarlett to her feet. As she passed Rowena, the woman’s triumphant smile stabbed at her like a blade. They threw Scarlett into the cold stone of the chapel and left her there, collapsing against the floor. Footsteps announced Rowena’s entrance; she stalked in heels, deliberate and poised.
“Do you know why the chapel?” Rowena purred as she crouched to cup Scarlett’s chin with two nails of ice. “Ryan said you should be made to think about your sins in front of your ancestors.”
Rowena circled like a viper, then crouched and tilted Scarlett’s chin with a fingertip that was all ice. “Do you really think he ever loved you?”
Her words came slow, designed to wound. “He took you in, trained you, showed kindness now and then—but only because you were useful. Because you reminded him of a stray dog he had once as a child.”
Scarlett opened her mouth to protest, but the sound died in her throat.
Rowena’s smile deepened. “To him, you’re nothing more than a tool. A tool to be used and discarded at will. And when a tool no longer works the way its master wants… it must be reforged.”
She rose and reached for a braided rattan whip hanging on the wall. She flicked it through the air; the whip’s hiss made Scarlett flinch.