Isabel swallowed hard, holding her breath, trying not to cry. "Andrey… please… don't do this…" Her voice cracked, fragile.
"Please?" Andrey chuckled softly. "I'm teaching you something. If you want to be my wife, you need to know what awaits you. There's no mercy here, Isabel. Only reality."
The woman Alain smiled slyly, brushing Andrey's hand. "Look, Isabel. You need to remember this. Tonight, you will learn to accept your fate."
Isabel lowered her gaze even further, holding back tears.
"Why must it be in front of me? Am I even worthy of being treated like this?" she whispered, barely audible.
Andrey rose, stepping slowly toward her, his face frozen in cold determination.
"Because I can. Because my family can. And because you have no one to defend you. So watch closely. Remember this night."
Isabel swallowed hard, her breath catching, but deep inside, a small flame began to burn. Liv's promise echoed in her mind—revenge would come, and everything they had done would be paid back.
Andrey dismissed his smirk, returning to his icy composure.
"Keep your words to yourself. You'll need them later… to pretend you're happy."
Isabel merely nodded. But in her eyes, a new determination had been born. She was no longer just a victim—she was preparing to turn the tables.
Night after night, the same cruel spectacle unfolded within Count Erickson's mansion. Andrey would bring different women into his chambers—beautiful, elegant, laughing women draped in silk and perfume. He made sure Isabel saw everything.
He wanted her to see the world she once dreamed of—the world she thought she'd share with him.
Isabel stood by the door, her hands trembling as laughter echoed through the room. Her heart cracked with every sound of pleasure, every whisper that wasn't meant for her.
Finally, her voice broke through the noise.
"Andrey… have you forgotten what you once said to me?" she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You promised you'd protect me. You said you loved me."
Andrey glanced at her over his shoulder, smirking, as the women around him began to laugh. Their laughter stung sharper than knives.
"Love?" he repeated mockingly, his voice dripping with contempt. "Who ever said I loved you, Isabel? You misunderstood everything. I only pitied you."
Isabel shook her head in disbelief.
"If it was pity… then why did you always put me before Liv? Why did you make me believe I mattered more than her?"
At the mention of Liv's name, Andrey's expression darkened instantly. The smirk vanished. He stood, his steps heavy, and in one sharp motion—slap!—his hand struck Isabel across the face.
"Don't you dare speak her name with that filthy mouth of yours!" he roared.
Isabel fell to the floor, clutching her cheek as tears fell freely. Her voice trembled.
"You used to be so gentle… so kind to me. What happened to you, Andrey?"
He stared down at her coldly. "What happened? You happened, Isabel. None of this would've happened if you'd stayed quiet—if you hadn't tried to ruin Liv. You brought this on yourself with your own greed."
Andrey turned away, returning to the women waiting on his bed. Their laughter filled the air again—hollow, cruel, echoing through the stone halls like a curse.
Isabel bowed her head, her body shaking, her heart screaming silently. She could taste blood on her lip, but worse than the pain was the memory—of a boy who once smiled softly and whispered promises under the moonlight.
That boy was gone. And in his place stood a man with no heart.
The night before the wedding, Isabel stood nervously in Andrey's private chamber inside the grand Erickson family mansion. High walls, deep crimson velvet curtains, and the heady scent of expensive perfume filled the air.
Andrey, his white shirt half-unbuttoned, approached Isabel with a gaze burning with obsession. "No one can disturb us here… This room is for you, for me—for all our sinful secrets," he rasped, his voice low and rough.
Isabel lowered her head. "We shouldn't be doing this tonight, Andrey… We're getting married tomorrow—"
Andrey moved closer, his fingers brushing a strand of Isabel's hair from her neck. "Don't forget—we've done this countless times before… You're even carrying my child because of it."
His hand gripped Isabel's waist, pulling her closer, their breaths colliding in the dim light.
"You know I've never been able to control myself when it comes to you," he growled, his lips tracing the line of Isabel's jaw.
Slowly, Andrey took a black silk cloth from an antique drawer. He covered Isabel's eyes, plunging her into darkness as his hands began exploring her body with hungry, desperate touches.
"This will be the most thrilling night you've ever known… It's been far too long since we played like this, Isabel."
Isabel shook her head at first, nervous. But when Andrey whispered his promise of new adventures into her ear, she finally surrendered—a wide smile spreading across her face, her body giving in.
Andrey pulled a pair of ornate metal cuffs from a wooden box on the table, locking Isabel's wrists to the bed with decisive force.
"Don't fight me, Isabel. I want to see you completely submit tonight…" Andrey's voice was rough and commanding.
Isabel could feel the cold bite of metal as both her wrists were cuffed to the sturdy bedposts. Her legs, spread wide and bound at each ankle, left her completely vulnerable beneath the weight of velvet shadows in Andrey's private chamber.
Every time Andrey entered her, she felt a strange, jarring sensation—sometimes he seemed impossibly thick and stretching, sometimes slender and teasing, other times somewhere in between. The relentless rhythm never ceased; over and over, Andrey claimed her body until exhaustion blurred the edges of her consciousness.
"Andrey, darling… I'm tired," Isabel gasped, her legs trembling, unable to feel anything but the deep, throbbing ache between her thighs. Her body ached with pleasure and fatigue in equal measure, muscles quivering with each helpless shudder.
"We have to do this again and again,"