PETRA'S POV
My eyes slit open gradually as I struggled to get accustomed to the environment. I had been held captive for three days, and each day felt like an eternity of suffering. My body was exhausted, drained of all strength, every muscle screaming in protest.
The air was thick and suffocating, almost as if it carried the weight of my guilt. The silver shackles on my wrists and ankles burned like fire, sizzling against my skin with every attempt to move. The pain was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the agony I felt in my heart. My back throbbed from the punishment they had given me, the lacerations from the whip still fresh and raw, mingling with the dried blood that clung to my body and clothes.
I had written a letter to Godfather three days ago, asking for help, pleadin
