At my birthday party, my husband tied me to a ceiling beam and wh*pped me thirty times because I had stained his mistress’s dress. “Maybe now you’ll learn your place,” he laughed while everyone watched. I didn’t cry. When they finally cut me down, I picked up my phone and called my five brothers. “Make his entire family beg for mercy,” I whispered. Then the front gates suddenly slammed shut.
At my birthday party, my husband tied me to a ceiling beam and wh\*pped me thirty times because I had stained his mistress’s dress.
“Maybe now you’ll learn your place,” he laughed while everyone watched.
I didn’t cry.
When they finally cut me down, I picked up my phone and called my five brothers.
“Make his entire family beg for mercy,” I whispered.
Then the front gates suddenly slammed shut.
—
PART 1
The thirtieth strike landed while my husband’s mistress smiled beneath the crystal chandelier, and that was the exact moment I stopped thinking of Isaac Vance as my husband.
“Maybe now you’ll learn your place,” he laughed, while fifty high-society guests at my own birthday party stood frozen around me.
My wrists were tied above my head to a decorative wooden ceiling beam in the ballroom of the Vance estate.
The public humiliation hurt far more than the physical blows.
Isaac had turned my thirty-fourth birthday into a sadistic public punishment because I had accidentally spilled red wine across Clover Vance’s silver designer dress.
