She took a deep breath, her voice weak, barely more than a whisper.

“Kill me, you disgusting bastard…”

He let out a low laugh, joyless.

“Kill you? No, fancy girl… I already told you—death would be mercy. And mercy is something you don’t deserve.”

He leaned in, close to her ear.

“You’ll pay for every second. You’ll pay for every tear you made others cry. And you’ll pay awake.”

Isabela bit her lip, fighting not to break apart.

“But today…” he straightened. “Today, you’ll take a bath. Not out of p