Memory flashed violently through his mind. He remembered forcing her to perform that exact same dance before him in his dark estate—barefoot, her delicate feet bleeding profusely as they stepped onto the sharp, broken glass he had scattered across the marble floor for his own amusement. He remembered watching her struggle to suppress her tears, treating her agony and humiliation as nothing more than a passing show.
Now... she was dancing for him again.
But there was no broken glass beneath her feet.
No one was holding a whip over her head.
No one was forcing her to move.
She was free. And she was smiling with pure, euphoric liberation.
The boat drifted farther into the river, yet through his hyper-sensitive vision, he could still see her spinning under the sunlight.
A furious, despairing scream tore from Roland's paralyzed throat, echoing wildly across the water.
"You whore! OLIVIA! DAMN YOU TO HELL!"
Olivia slowly paused her dance, lifting her head high.
