Chapter 21

• The suffocating silence in the boardroom stretched, thick and painful, around Mariselle’s frozen form. Don Carlo’s final, damning words—“Without her clothes, of course”—still echoed, chilling the air and cementing her humiliation. She stood rooted to the spot, a silent scream trapped in her throat as Giselle fondled her breasts, her eyes fixed on the man who held her father’s life in his hands.
• Giselle, however, was in motion. She sauntered towards Mariselle, her high heels clicking softly on the marble floor near the cooling body of the executed traitor, Jazreel. The ex-wife radiated a cold, predatory confidence, her assessment of Mariselle utterly detached. Giselle reached out a gloved hand, tracing the outline of Mariselle’s jaw with a perfectly manicured finger.
• “Such delicate features, Carlo,” Giselle murmured, her voice smooth and appreciative, yet devoid of true warmth. She circled Mariselle, her eyes taking in the pregnant woman’s defiant posture despite the terror in her eyes. “A pity to waste that fire on a dungeon floor. You have excellent taste in porcelain, my dear.”