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“I’m telling you this because it’s the truth. Charlie was a lying scumbag who is an embarrassment to East End, and I put a bullet through his head.”

“I guess you really are one of my children.” Ashby stares at me for a long moment. “Fine. if you want to take the punishment for your brother, then there’s only one thing left to do.” He tilts his head at Pace. “Go get the box.”

Pace blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Go get the box,” Ashby repeats. “If your sister wants the punishment, then I’ll give it to her.”

“She’s pregnant!” he shouts. “You can’t—”

“I’ve already told your brother that I have no problem issuing punishments to a Princess, pregnant or not.” He unbuttons his crisp shirt cuff, slowly rolling up the sleeve. “She’ll neither be the first nor last that I’ll have to discipline.”

Pace snaps into movement, stepping between me and his father. “You’ll have to kill me before I let you lay a hand on her or our son.” He towers in the small space, shoulders wide and fully imposing. This is the man who beat Remy in the Fury—with a knife, not a fist. Seeing the blade glint as he pulls it from thin air isn’t a surprise to either of us, but I still gasp.

Ashby doesn’t blink.

“Thad.” The name is barely off his tongue when the security guard lunges for Pace, knocking him and the knife to the ground. The fight is dirty, Pace scrambling, his elbow connecting with Thad’s jaw in a sharp jab. Loose, he dives for the knife, but the bodyguard is as quick as he is large, grabbing for his ankles and yanking him back across the hardwoods. Using his entire body, Thad jams a knee into Pace’s back, pinning him to the floor.

Ashby picks up the knife and levels it at his son. “I suggest you comply,” Ashby says, as if this is all an inconvenience, “or I’ll skip the whip and use the blade.”

With the threat shifted to me, Pace gives, body stiff but no longer fighting. His father continues, crossing over to the cabinet at the back of the room. He removes a wooden box and carries it back to his desk.

“She’s carrying your grandchild, you sick motherfucker!” Pace shouts while Thad hoists him off the floor, both arms around his upper body, holding him in place. The objective is clear. Ashby isn’t going to kill Pace.

He’s going to make him watch.

I stand, frozen in my spot, watching as he methodically rolls up the other sleeve and then pulls out a pair of leather gloves.

“Verity,” Pace pleads in a raw, ragged voice. “Tell him the truth. Tell him it was me. Don’t do this.”

“At this point, it doesn’t matter,” Ashby says, flipping open the box. Inside is the coiled whip that I saw in the recording. “You, her; you’re both spoiled brats who need to learn your place.” He points to the fireplace. “Remove the sweater and dress.”

It’s as if I’m outside my body as I step to the fireplace, letting Pace’s hoodie fall to the floor. He won’treallyhurt me, I reason. This is probably all a show to get a rise out of Pace. Still, I’ll play the charade for what it is and act appropriately admonished. Reaching behind my back, I lower the zipper. The horror I’d felt earlier at Charlie’s returns—the feeling of being exposed and exploited—but it slowly fades into the oddest numbness. Once I’m in nothing but a bra and panties, my stomach on full display, his voice rings out.

“On your knees.”

“Don’t—” Pace shouts, and behind me, I hear the sound of a struggle; a clatter and crash, something fragile shattering on the floor. His next words are muffled growls.

Ashby steps in front of me, reaching for my chin. He tilts my face upward with his gloved hand. “You aren’t the first Princess to lie and defy me, but you are the only one who shares my blood. My sons will tell you I derive pleasure from punishing them, but there’s no joy here—just necessity. I am your King. Your father. Iwillbe obeyed. And you will suffer for your defiance.”

His thumb strokes along my jaw, and he gives me a tight, wistful smile before moving behind me.

I can’t help but recall Lex being in this position—the sweat beaded on his forehead and chest. I just feel cold. From fear. From regret. From knowing what it’s like to kneel like this, having the man who’s supposed to protect you turn his ire on you instead.

I have no idea what to expect, but it’s not the cutting whistle of air, followed by a sharp, deafeningcrack.

It’s certainly not the pain.

The gasp I suck in feels like it never ends. I’d expected a bruise maybe, something hard enough to make a mark, but not break skin.

I was wrong.

The end of the whip feels like I’ve been branded, the tip hot as fire. Teeth gouging into my bottom lip, I fall forward, one hand outstretched in support, the other cradling my stomach. The pain takes my breath away, and for an infinite second, I think this might be how I die.

“Straighten up,” Ashby barks.

It’s then that I feel a pulsing sting, the heat transforming into something that goes deeper. I push back, my skin screaming. I’m barely upright before I hear the hiss of air, and my body seizes, preparing for the second strike. I cry out, deep, like a groan, this time clutching both hands around my stomach.

“Are you sure this is what you want, daughter?” His voice is mangled with something too breathless to be anger.Pleasure. He absolutely gets pleasure from this. “To muddy yourself with the lies and deceit of your brothers?”