Chapter 16
Christian’s POV
The dungeon was pitch black, save for the dim yellow light flickering above the door–mocking the last sliver of pity left in
- me.
My footsteps echoed down the stone stairs, each step heavy and deliberate.
Carrie curled up in the corner like a broken doll, trembling uncontrollably.
Clink.
I opened the door. Her eyes met mine–and when she saw the bloodlust in them, she trembled to her bones, like she was
staring down a demon.
“W–What are you doing?” Her voice shook, fragile as glass–like it could shatter any second.
I didn’t answer, simply stepped back and nodded to the warriors behind me.
They walked in, each carrying a heavy black sack.
The dungeon went eerily quiet, save for the faint hissing coming from those bags.
Then, I watched as the snakes were released–dozens of them, writhing toward Carrie like liquid shadow.
“No! Get them away from me! HELP!” she shrieked, scrambling back against the wall. But there was nowhere left to run.
The snakes climbed up her arms, coiled around her legs, and kept slithering upward–until her whole body was covered.
That cold, slithering touch… I knew it was something she’d never forget.
“AHHH!!” she screamed, and the sound of her skin being bitten and torn filled the air.
I stood at the door, watching, unflinching. My voice came out cold as ice. “They’re not venomous. I wouldn’t let you die
that easy.”
She collapsed, her body covered in bloody, torn flesh–almost unrecognizable. If not for the faint rise and fall of her chest,
I would’ve thought she was already gone.
“Kill me… please…” she begged, barely above a whisper.
But I turned away and waved the pack healer in.
“I told you… death would be too kind.”
The next few days, it was like something inside me snapped–I couldn’t stop. I kept replaying every bit of pain she ever
inflicted on Blair–and made her feel it too.
I had her pinned down on burning coals, her skin blistering with every second. Her screams tore through the smoke like
razors.
Needles–shoved deep into her flesh–just like she’d done to Blair, over and over again.
Each punishment was something she taught me.
And when I finally stopped… she thought I was done.
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She was wrong. She underestimated me.
I took her to a hotel.
The second she stepped into the room, her expression changed–panic flooded her face, and she began to struggle.
“Christian, please… you can’t do this to me…”
She cried and screamed until her voice broke.
I stood motionless, my gaze empty. “Isn’t this what you did to Blair? Why are you scared now?”
She shook her head frantically; her face soaked with tears.
She ran for the door like a maniac–but the guards I stationed were already waiting.
I didn’t even blink at her pleas.
And it still wasn’t over.
I had arranged everything for Blair’s funeral. On the eve, Lysander descended into the dungeon.
I didn’t follow, just heard him say in that cold voice, “Tomorrow is Blair’s funeral.”
Carrie looked up, dried blood still crusted on her lips. She let out a raspy laugh. “You tortured me all you want, but Blair’s
still dead. There’s not even a body left. What the hell are you even burying?”
“Carrie, don’t you feel the slightest bit of remorse?” Lysander asked her.
She laughed again, this time like a ghost dragging itself up from hell.
“Remorse? You should be the ones regretting it.” Her eyes locked on his, sharp and accusing. “I don’t regret a damn thing.
Blair’s never shown up in my dreams–not once. But I bet you’ve seen her plenty. After all, it was you who killed her.”
I heard Lysander order the guards, “Take her to the cemetery.”
“You’ll stay right there–for three days and nights–keeping watch over Blair’s grave.”
She fought back, but it was futile.
The nights were freezing. She sat there, trembling before the headstone. At first, she tried to resist, but by the second
night, she was slumped on the ground, dazed and shivering.
Each day, she was given only a piece of bread. Rain lashed down, wind howled through the trees, and blood soaked
through her pants.
By the third day, she collapsed, then woke again. When she did, she didn’t even have the strength to cry.
I watched her from a distance, then I finally approached.
She thought it was over. But I held a whip in my hand.
“You accused Blair of crimes she didn’t commit. Because of your lies, she was whipped. Today, you’ll pay that debt.”
I didn’t go easy.
CRACK!
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The whip, laced with silver thread, sliced through the air and landed across her back. Blood sprang out instantly.
Before she could catch her breath, the second lash followed.
Her sweat dripped onto the dirt, her hair clung to her forehead. Her voice–barely more than a rasp–was lost in the wind.
When the final strike landed, she collapsed, limp like a puppet with its strings cut.
But I knew… This was only the beginning.
What she owed Blair, she’d pay–every single day.
“From now on, you’ll be flogged–every day–right in front of Blair’s grave.”
Chapter 16
