Chapter 2

Finn dragged me into a private chamber, the door slamming shut behind us with a sound that sealed my fate. He threw me onto a plush sofa, the force of it knocking the wind out of me. I scrambled to sit up, my hand instinctively going to my stomach to protect the life growing inside me. "Finn, stop!" I tried to protest, but my voice was weak.

He stood over me, a terrifying silhouette against the dim light of the room. He easily pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, his strength overwhelming. "Stop? You come to me, begging. You fall into my arms, crying. Is this your new strategy, Scarlett? Playing the victim?" His voice was low and dangerous, each word a cold drop of poison.

"No! I'm not playing at anything! My father is going to die!" I sobbed, struggling against his grip. It was useless, he was far too strong. I was a trapped animal, and the fear was so intense it made me nauseous. He stared down at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. I saw the memory of every insult, every humiliation I had ever dealt him, reflected in their depths. He was going to make me pay for all of it.

"You want me to save your father?" he whispered, his face so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. "Then you will have to please me. You will have to show me that you're truly sorry for the past two years." He released my wrists, and I immediately curled into a ball, trying to make myself smaller. He saw the movement, and a humorless smile touched his lips. "I see you're not so eager to please. In that case, I will leave. Your father can rot in his cell."

My heart stopped. He was serious. He would let my father die, all because of his hatred for me. The thought of my gentle, loving father suffering a traitor's death was unbearable. I couldn't let that happen. But how could I do what he was asking? I was pregnant. Dr. Miller had warned me to avoid any stress or physical strain. What Finn was demanding could very well harm my babies. The secret I was so desperate to protect was now a weapon against me.

I remembered a story my maid once told me, about a noblewoman who had an affair and became pregnant. When her powerful lover found out, he feared the scandal and forced her to drink a potion to get rid of the child. She died along with her baby. The story sent a chill through me. If Finn knew I was pregnant with his child, a child he had already rejected, what would he do? Would he see it as a loose end, a threat to his new life and his engagement to Lady Eleanor? The risk was too great. I couldn't tell him.

He turned his back to me, his hand on the doorknob. "I'm losing my patience, Scarlett." His voice was final. Panic clawed at my throat. It was my father's life or my pride. The choice was no choice at all. "Wait!" I cried out, my voice hoarse. He paused, his back still to me. I took a shaky breath, my body trembling with a mixture of fear and self-loathing. "I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want."

He turned around slowly, a look of cold triumph on his face. He walked back towards me, his eyes raking over my body. I felt stripped bare under his gaze. "Good," he said simply. I forced myself to uncurl, to sit up straight. My hands shook as I reached for the buttons on my dress. My fingers were clumsy, fumbling with the fabric. I felt like a fool, clumsy and pathetic. He watched me, his expression one of utter disdain. "Is this how you try to please a man? You're as inept at this as you were at being a wife."

His words hurt more than a physical blow. I thought back to that one night, the only time he had touched me with anything approaching tenderness. He had been so gentle then, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid of hurting me. He had whispered my name, and for a fleeting moment, I had felt cherished. Where was that man now? This person in front of me was a stranger, a cruel tyrant who delighted in my suffering.

My tears started to fall again, hot and silent. I couldn't stop them. I hated him for making me so weak, so helpless. I hated myself for what I was about to do. As I finally managed to undo the last button, he suddenly moved. He lunged forward, grabbing me and throwing me onto the bed. The world spun, and before I could react, he was on top of me, his weight pinning me down. His actions were frantic, almost savage. He ripped at my clothes, his touch rough and impersonal.

This wasn't passion, it was punishment. It was a violent claiming of what he believed was his right. The pain and humiliation were too much. My vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. The last thing I heard before I passed out was the sound of my own heart, hammering a frantic rhythm of terror in my ears.

When I woke up, I was alone in the room, my body aching and sore. The bedsheets were a mess, and my torn dress was lying in a heap on the floor. For a wild, hopeful moment, I thought it had all been a terrible nightmare. But then he walked back into the room, fully dressed, his face as cold and impassive as ever. "Finn," I whispered, my voice raw. "My father... you promised."

He looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before they turned to ice. "I promised nothing," he said flatly. "You offered yourself. I took what was offered. That doesn't mean I owe you anything." He tossed a small pouch of gold onto the bed. "This is for your troubles. Now get dressed and get out of my sight." The pouch landed next to me, the jingle of the coins a final, brutal insult. He turned and walked out, leaving me broken and utterly, devastatingly alone.