The huge living room was silent under the massive crystal chandelier. Oscar kneeled perfectly still in the center of the hall.
His back had been slashed by Dominic earlier, and the blood slowly spread over his white suit.
Myra stood beside him, biting her lip so hard that it almost drew blood as she stared at his wound.
George and Theo were nearby, uneasy.
"Ms. Shirley, we're your bodyguards, too. It's our fault you got hurt. You can't just punish Oscar," George said.
"Yeah. We should be punished too," Theo added.
Shirley sat on the sofa as the family doctor disinfected her wound.
The cut had gone deep into her flesh. As the doctor cleaned it, waves of sharp pain shot through her body.
But the pain wasn't nearly as bad as what she felt in her heart.
She lifted her eyes casually toward the man kneeling before her.
Her voice was calm, almost indifferent. "When this happened, you two weren't around. So no punishment for you. But Oscar was here. He's the reason I got hurt, so I'm punishing him. Don't you think that's fair?"
Shirley rarely got this angry.
George and Theo exchanged glances, then continued to plead on his behalf.
"But he's your future husband! Don't you feel bad about punishing him while he's hurt?"
"Yeah, you have feelings for him. How could you punish him?"
Before Shirley could answer, Oscar, kneeling straight as a board, spoke, "If I could, Ms. Shirley, I'd rather not be the one you choose."
"Fine." Shirley stood, ordering someone to bring her the whip.
It was the same one Daniel had had made for her when the four bodyguards first joined the Bishops.
Fifteen years had passed, and she had never once used it.
"Since you're willing to take the punishment, I won't hold back," she said.
The moment the words left her mouth, the whip lashed down hard onto his back.
The sickening crack split the skin and flesh, and blood gushed out of his previous wound.
Myra screamed, "Oscar!"
But he didn't flinch or make a sound.
Shirley pressed her lips together, and her hand that was holding the whip shook.
The thought of how he had ruined her happiness in the last life made her tremble with anger.
As she lifted her injured arm to strike a second time, Myra suddenly lunged forward, taking the lash herself.
"Ah!" She screamed in pain, and Oscar, panicked, scooped her into his arms.
He glared at Shirley, his eyes sharp. "I won't let you touch her!"
"She threw herself in front of me. Why are you blaming me?" Shirley asked, raising the whip. "Who's gonna take the third strike—her or you?"
"Shirley, don't…"
Myra fainted from the pain, and Oscar's heart thumped as he held her tightly. "Myra, wake up! I'll get you help!"
He ran upstairs with her before shouting at the family doctor, who was standing frozen in the living room, "Get up here right now! If anything happens to Myra, you'll pay for it!"
The doctor glanced at Shirley and dared not breathe. Without her command, he didn't dare to do as Oscar said.
"Go," Shirley spat before tossing the whip on the floor.
Looking at the blood splattered across the floor and her arm's split wound, she said, "I don't want anyone dying in our house. Oh, and get me the thousand-year-old Devilroot that Dad gave me."
Theo asked quickly, "Are you giving it to Oscar to help him recover? If you're nice to him, I'm sure he'll admit his mistake."
"No," Shirley said firmly. "Give it to Jamie."
"Jamie?" The two exchanged a surprised glance. "I thought you hated him."
Shirley raised an eyebrow. "Who said I hated him?"
