(God's POV)

Alexander stumbled over the threshold. His white shirt was soaked in blood, clinging to his wounded torso, with red droplets falling from his fingertips.

His gaze instantly locked on the torture rack in the center of the room.

Olivia hung there, head bowed. Rough hemp ropes cut into her wrists. Her prison uniform was shredded by a whip, revealing skin covered in bruises and raw, exposed flesh.

Mrs. Reynolds stood beside the rack, holding a red-hot branding ...