Too Late for Regrets

"Strip her!"

The man stood beneath the prison's only light source, his voice icy in the damp, shadowed cell.

Three guards leered as they closed in on the woman cowering in the corner.

Emma Roscente pressed her back against the wall, trembling. "Stay away..."

Two guards seized her arms.

"Let go! Get off me!"

She thrashed wildly, but the third guard tore open her shirt with brutal force.

Her pale skin gleamed under the dim light, and the men's eyes darkened with hunger as they reached for her pants.

Emma kicked and fought, but three grown men overpowered her easily.

Pinned to the ground, she gagged as filthy hands roamed her body.

"Liam Sullivan! I'm your wife! How could you do this to me?!"

At the word "wife," disgust flashed in Liam's eyes. "Keep going."

"No—!"

"Help!"

The guards worked efficiently—two restrained her limbs while the third shredded her clothes.

Emma writhed in despair, but escape was impossible.

Six hands groped her mercilessly, and bile rose in her throat. "Liam! Stop them!"

Liam watched coldly, unmoved.

Tears blurred her vision.

What kind of wife was she to him? If he truly saw her as his wife, would he have thrown her into prison himself?

Liam stood bathed in light, yet his presence radiated only frost.

Only when she was stripped down to her undergarments did he finally step forward.

"Emma Roscente," he murmured, staring down at her curled form. "How does it feel to be exposed? Now you understand Olivia's suffering?"

The memory of what he'd witnessed earlier still chilled him.

If he hadn't arrived in time, Olivia Evans might have been...

And this woman had orchestrated it all.

"I told you—I never sent anyone to hurt Olivia!"