?Chapter 463:


    The man’s voice was cold and clipped, snapping Rachel out of her daze. She turned to the one leading the group, her voice soft but pleading. “Just five minutes, okay? Please.”


    He hesitated, but remembering Wilson’s attitude towards her, he gave a small nod. “Fine. Five minutes. No more.”


    Rachel nearly choked on her relief. “Thank you. Five minutes—that’s all I need.”


    Without another word, she started toward Brian.


    As soon as she could make out Brian’s features, she stopped in her tracks. She hadn’t nned to approach him, much less speak to him. She only wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay, to check if he was hurt.


    Peering from around the corner, she saw Brian standing tall, his posture asposed as ever. Fresh from a shower, he wore a crisp white shirt and ck trousers, exuding a quiet elegance that seemed untouched by confinement.


    The image sent a wave of déjà vu crashing over her. It was just like the first time they met. Back then, he had also worn white and ck—though instead of a dress shirt and trousers, it had been a in white T-shirt and ck cks.


    And he had leaped into the water to save her, throwing caution aside without hesitation. Back then, he had been a light in the darkness. A beacon she had never forgotten.


    Back when they were nothing more than strangers, he had pulled her out of the water without hesitation. Yet after everything—after years together—he ignored her when she was in danger.


    Time had slipped through her fingers so fast. The moments she had desperately clung to had long since dissolved into nothing. She was the only one still trapped in the past.


    “Brian, this time, let’s call it even,” she whispered under her breath. From this moment on, she owed him nothing. The thread tying them together could finally be cut.


    Blinking back the tears, Rachel turned and met the man’s gaze. “Let’s go.”


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    “Alright.”


    Minutester, Rachel was led into another room. It was secluded, dimly lit, and nearly bare—nothing about it stood out. Not long after, a woman entered. Without a word, she ced two pieces of clothing in front of Rachel, her expression cold and unreadable. Rachel frowned.


    Then a man walked in, a whip gripped tightly in his hand. And just like that, she understood. Her punishment was ashing, designed to carve itself into her memory. There was no escaping it.


    Rachel clenched her fists, steeling herself. The sooner this ended, the sooner she could go home to Jeffrey. If she didn’t return tonight, he would definitely start to worry.


    “Should I stand or lie down?” Rachel asked, her voice steady.


    Herposure clearly caught the man off guard. He hesitated before answering, “Standing will do.”


    He passed the whip to the woman beside him. “You take care of it, since you’re both women. I’ll step outside—call me when it’s done.”


    “Alright,” the woman replied, gripping the whip.


    Rachel could tell from the look in her eyes—she wasn’t going to hold back.


    And sure enough, the firstsh tore across her back, searing like fire. A sharp, unbearable sting ripped through her, as if her skin had been shed open.


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