The Cost 3

Chapter 3 

When I woke up again, I was still naked on the couch, covered with just a small blanket. Peter was already gone. 

About a dozen women were chattering noisily outside. 

I called them into my room and opened the wardrobe. 

The walk–in closet was filled with custom–made dresses, all one–of–a–kind pieces. The women stared, wide–eyed. 

Luckily, with Peter now holding all the power, no one dared to raid his house. These dresses, once Durand family property, were untouchable–like me. 

“Pick out anything you like.” 

Miranda stood in front of me, eyeing me up and down, clearly suspicious. 

“You’re being nice now? What’s your angle?” 

I shook my head and said nothing. 

Now that I had sorted through my family’s belongings, it was time to deal with my own. 

Peter hated me so much. After I died, these dresses would probably all be burned. 

I might as well let them be worn by others. At least the designers‘ work wouldn’t be wasted. 

Some of the younger women couldn’t wait. They started picking through the clothes and trying them on, all while grinning from ear to ear. “This fabric feels amazing!” 

A few women around my age just stood with arms crossed with wary looks, unsure what I was up to. 

I didn’t care. I pulled open drawer after drawer, revealing flashy bags and watches that made their faces light up. 

That was when I realized that these women all looked a little like me–especially the newcomer, Miranda. She was practically a copy of me. No wonder she was Peter’s favorite. 

But it didn’t matter anymore. Whether Peter loved me or not–it didn’t matter. 

I only had two days left anyway. 

A sports car roared through the front yard. Sarah, who had been standing still the whole time, poked her head out for a look. Then, without a word, she walked over and started picking out clothes. 

When Peter opened the door, Sarah suddenly screamed and held up a dress. 

The sequins had been half–slashed off somehow, and the sharp edges cut a long gash into her slender leg. Blood poured instantly. 

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08:15 

Chapter 3 

288 Vouchers. 

I still remembered–it was those smooth, pale legs that had caught Peter’s eye. That was why he gave her the biggest guest room. 

Sure enough, his expression darkened. He rushed over and scooped Sarah up in his arms, gently blowing on her wound as though she was the most fragile thing in the world. 

Through tear–filled eyes, Sarah whimpered, “It’s my fault. I was careless. Felicia gave us the dresses out of kindness. I was just unlucky to pick the one with a blade hidden inside.” 

Peter’s gaze turned deadly. 

“Felicia, I’ll give you one chance. Explain.” 

I shrugged. “What’s there to explain? Sluts are just dramatic. You won’t let me get a divorce, right? That means I’m still your wife. What’s wrong with teaching the side chick a lesson?” 

He growled, “Felicia, I told you. Your job is to serve them. Who told you you’re the real lady of the house? Who gave you the right to touch my women?” 

My words pushed him over the edge. He pulled out a whip and handed it to the butler. 

“For every bit of pain Sarah felt, you’ll pay a hundredfold.” 

The whip cracked against my legs, the barbs tearing off chunks of flesh. But I didn’t feel the first ten lashes. 

Compared to the pain in my heart, my legs were numb. 

But the 11th lash hit the bone. I saw it–raw, white bone. That was when the tears finally came. 

er bent down in front of me. “Does it hurt now? Good. Get on your knees and bark into the camera. Say, ‘I, Felicia rand, and every last Durand family member, am nothing but Peter’s mutt.‘ Then, kneel to Sarah and apologize. Do and I’ll let you go. 

11 

I shut my mouth and snorted through my nose. He responded by swinging a bat in my direction. The pain exploded through my ribs like fire. 

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