Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Isaac fell in step beside me as we walked toward the containment cells. The sound of our footsteps echoed down the long hallway, growing louder with each step. Ahead, the dim glow of wall lights illuminated the path, casting long, twisted shadows on the walls.
“Diabolus,” the guard at the checkpoint greeted me with a low bow, his masked face lowering in respect.
I acknowledged him with a curt nod, not wasting time on pleasantries, heading straight to where the others already waited.
The chamber was not a place meant for redemption—it was built for judgment, for punishment. The walls were smooth stone, illuminated by the dim glow of torches that lined the perimeter. Chains and restraints dangled from the ceiling like grim reminders of what awaited those who dared cross the Isle’s boundaries. The floor was stained in places, the remnants of past sentences meted out to those who had failed the faith or, more importantly, failed me.
As I entered, the scent of damp stone and iron filled the air, thick and suffocating. In the center of the room, a large stone table dominated the space, its surface worn from years of use. Around it, my Magistri stood waiting—Bishop, Emilio, my father, Uncle Corbin, Jamison, and Phoenix. Each man represented a different aspect of our power, our dominion over the Isle.
Osiris wasn’t there; he was handling matters above ground, making sure everything was contained outside the estate. He knew better than anyone the upheaval Nicolette’s actions had almost unleashed.
On one side of the chamber, William hung from the ceiling, stripped of his clothes and dignity. His injuries were grotesque, bones jutting out at unnatural angles, his skin bruised and torn. He’d survived the fall, but just barely. His breathing was ragged, each rise and fall of his chest a labored struggle.
Nicolette, on the other hand, was seated in a heavy iron chair, bound but still, her head hung low. Her face was a mess of scars and mutilation, her lips sewn shut once but now ragged, half-missing. Her father, Theron, stood over her, his expression a mixture of anger and immense disappointment. He hadn’t said a word yet, but his presence alone weighed heavily on the room.
He wasn’t here to beg for leniency. He had three other daughters who had turned out exactly as they should have and embraced the Impío faith with grace and devotion. Nicolette’s betrayal was a stain on his family name, much like Isabel had been a stain on ours. That was something we were only now moving past—thanks to my Lolita.
As I approached, he gave me a single nod of acknowledgment, a silent acceptance of what had to be done. Nicolette had crossed the line, and there was no turning back. This wasn’t just about punishing her—it was about restoring order, and balance.
“Diabolus,” Theron greeted me, his tone cold and distant.
As I studied the two failures before me, I noticed the subtle exchange of glances—desperate, fleeting. A shared moment of connection between the condemned. I looked toward my father, who stood silent but alert.
Our eyes met briefly, and I knew he had picked up on it too. This was more than a servant and a disobedient mistress. This was another Clarice, another foolish woman who would’ve never learned her lesson.
"It's almost like Clarice 2.0," I said aloud, my voice cutting through the silence. “But she isn’t nearly as pretty, and her husband's just an unfortunate fool that now has to pay for her being a whore.”
Nicolette gasped, her body tensing as she realized I had discovered the full extent of her treachery. She tried to stifle it, but there was no hiding her fear now.
Bishop, ever the instigator, chuckled darkly. “I thought she was sending him heart eyes. How boring, Nikki. You could’ve aimed higher.”
Emilio shook his head with mock disappointment.
“You know what this means. You have to start with him.” He motioned to William’s broken form. “The driver goes first.”
I turned toward William, who was barely holding onto consciousness, his head lolling forward. He wouldn’t be of much use for long, but there were plenty of ways to extend his suffering if I chose. I crossed my arms, considering my options.
“What should I do with him?” I asked, looking toward my Magistri. “Suggestions?”
A few ideas were tossed out, each one darker and more brutal than the last, but Phoenix's quiet voice cut through the noise, catching my attention.
“I can make him a centerpiece for your Rite,” he said, his tone casual.
The room fell silent, his words sinking in. The Rite was a sacred ceremony, essentially my wedding.
William was no longer useful as a man, but as a symbol of the Isle’s judgment?
I tilted my head, considering. “A centerpiece, you say?” I glanced back at William, imagining the twisted display Phoenix could create. It was fitting, poetic even. Nicolette’s betrayal had destroyed him, and now, he could serve one final purpose—an example of what happened to those who failed the Isle.