Amber sank deeper into the steaming bath, her sobs rippling through the water like whispers from a drowning soul. Pain welled up from her core, raw and consuming, settling even in the tips of her trembling toes. The bath’s warmth did little to ease the cold shame seizing her heart.
“I am no better than them, Lydia,” she cried, voice breaking through the veil of rising steam. “Worse even than my husband and his bought mercenary… a man paid to turn me into a spectacle, to make me into a jealous...