Chapter 2

The Spencer family's ceremonial hall had been transformed into a chamber of judgment. Ancient tapestries depicting the family's noble lineage hung from stone walls that had witnessed centuries of power and tradition. Now they would witness my humiliation—or my liberation. I couldn't yet tell which.

"Are you certain you wish to proceed with this, Carissa?" James Spencer, Chase's father, approached me as I knelt in the center of the hall. His voice was gentler than the others', perhaps because he'd lost his son to this family's toxic web of secrets. "Once begun, this cannot be undone."

I raised my eyes to meet his. "I'm certain."

The hall was filled with Spencer family members and high-ranking associates, all witnesses to my punishment. Westin stood among them, his face a mask of practiced concern that didn't reach his eyes. I could see the calculation behind his gaze—he was already planning how to spin this, how to maintain control.

"Very well." James stepped back, shaking his head slightly.

Eleanor Spencer emerged from the crowd, resplendent in her ceremonial robes. In her hand, she held the family's ancestral whip—leather strips interwoven with silver thread, designed to inflict maximum pain with minimum visible damage. A family heirloom for dispensing justice.

"Carissa Bennett," she intoned, her voice echoing through the hall, "you have chosen to dishonor your marriage vows and bring shame upon the Spencer name. Before we consider your petition for divorce, you will receive one hundred lashes as prescribed by our ancient laws."

She circled me slowly, like a predator assessing its prey. "After every twenty-five lashes, you will be given the opportunity to present your evidence. If at any point the council deems your reasons insufficient, the punishment will continue until completed."

I bowed my head, exposing my neck in the traditional posture of submission. But it wasn't submission that drove me—it was determination.

"I accept the judgment of the council," I said, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through my veins.

The first lash fell with a crack that seemed to split the air. Pain bloomed across my back, hot and sharp. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, refusing to cry out. The second lash followed, then the third. Each one stole my breath, each one a reminder of every lie Westin had told, every night he'd left me alone while claiming to sleepwalk.

By the tenth lash, sweat beaded on my forehead. By the fifteenth, my black dress was soaked with blood. But I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing me break.

When the twenty-fifth lash fell, Eleanor called the count. "Present your first evidence," she commanded.

With trembling hands, I reached for my clutch and removed the small USB drive. "This contains video footage from hidden cameras I installed in our bedroom and the estate gardens."

One of the family's tech specialists connected it to a large screen that had been set up for this purpose. The video began to play, showing our bedroom in the dead of night. Westin's form rose from our bed, fully conscious, checking his watch before slipping out the door.

The camera switched to the garden path, where a woman waited in the shadows. As Westin approached, she stepped into the moonlight—a young employee from one of the Spencer subsidiaries, someone I'd met at company functions.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as Westin embraced her passionately, speaking words of affection that he'd never once directed at me.

"This proves nothing," Westin snapped, stepping forward. "All marriages have their... indiscretions."

"Is this how you sleepwalk?" I asked quietly, my voice carrying in the sudden silence. "Consciously? With your eyes open?"

Eleanor silenced him with a gesture. "The council will deliberate on this evidence."

They huddled together, whispering urgently. When they returned, Eleanor's expression was unreadable.

"This is regrettable," she said finally, "but marital infidelity is not uncommon. The Spencer family offers counseling and financial compensation for your... disappointment. We recommend you withdraw your petition for divorce."

I stared at her in disbelief. "Disappointment? Is that what you call it?"

"I call it an opportunity to preserve your dignity," she replied coldly. "Take it."

I shook my head slowly, my resolve hardening. "No. There's more evidence. Much more."

Westin's face paled visibly, and for the first time since I'd known him, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.