Inside the Memorial Chapel, the air was stagnant and oppressive.

"Theft of the family signet ring. Sabotage of corporate interests. Per the Spencer Code, you are to receive one hundred lashes."

Derrick Shaw’s voice was as cold as the stone floor Elaine Miller was forced onto. Before she could steady herself, the whip sang through the air. It cracked against her back—a blinding, blistering agony that felt like fire carving through bone. A deep, jagged welt tore open, revealing the raw, red meat beneath.

Elaine collapsed, her teeth sinking into her lower lip until the metallic tang of blood flooded her mouth.

It hurt. God, it hurt so much.

They weren't holding back. They weren't just punishing her; they were trying to put her in the ground.

Another lash descended. Blood mingled with her tears, pooling on the floor as she convulsed, her body a map of ruin.

*No. I can’t die here.*

She had to escape. The final pieces were in place; she couldn’t let a hundred lashes be the end of her story.

The pain was a serrated blade in her lungs, making every ragged breath an exercise in torture. Driven by raw, animal instinct, Elaine clawed at the floor, her bloodied fingertips digging into the grout between the tiles. She dragged herself forward, a desperate, broken thing.

A heavy boot slammed into her ribs, kicking her back into the dust.

She lost track of time. Whether it was minutes or hours, the world had shrunk to the rhythm of the whip and the sound of her own breaking.

When it finally stopped, Elaine lay in a pool of her own life, her pulse a fading echo.

Derrick Shaw frowned, leaning down to check her breathing. His eyes widened, and he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet. "Oh god... we have to call Mr. Spencer. She's—"

Just then, the heavy oak doors swung open. Greta Spencer rushed in, her expression unreadable but sharp with intent.

"Elaine, stay with me! The doctor is almost here!"

Elaine mustered the last scrap of her failing strength, her voice a brittle, shredded whisper. "No... don't... just get me to the airfield. I have to leave..."

She gripped Greta’s wrist with a trembling hand, her eyes locking onto the older woman's. "Tell Marcellus... tell him I didn't survive the lashes."

Greta’s eyes glimmered with a rare, stinging sorrow. She squeezed Elaine's hand. "Rest now, child. I promise you—I will make sure you are gone."

By the time Elaine was stabilized at the hospital, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in violent streaks of bruised purple and gold. She was bundled onto a private plane before the city lights could even flicker to life.

She turned her head, casting one final look at the sprawling estate that had been her cage for seven years. The storm that had raged for days had finally broken, leaving the air washed clean and crisp.

The prison walls were shattered. For the first time, Elaine Miller was finally free.