Thunder roared outside Devonshire Manor, its echoes reaching every corner of the dark corridor. In one room, the sound of a man crying out as the whip tore into his skin was excruciating and a woman was tied to the bed, crying for it to stop.
Beatrice couldn't help but smile at the sight of it all. All her hate and fury had been repaid by her brother. The sight of Edward, covered in blood and misery, filled her heart with satisfaction, as if it were a balm to the wounds he had inflicted upon her.
She couldn't help but wonder, why did he do it? Was it because she wasn't good enough for him? But if that were the case, then Edward was just as inadequate as a fiancé. He had made her fall deeply into her own lecherous dream, driving her mad, driving her to be chased by the Devil himself. It was all his fault.
He deserved every bit of the blood on the floor and for every torn piece of skin! If only he had given in to her desires, she would never have ended up in such misery!
