Chapter 5 Frame
820 Words
For days, Rebecca had been confined to a hospital bed.
Samuel, citing urgent military duties, had not visited.
Yet through the careless chatter of the guards he posted outside her room, she learned the truth.
He had taken Natalie into the high-altitude training zone on a "field exercise."
A reckless mistake by Natalie disabled a communications vehicle.
To shield her from disciplinary action, Samuel had taken full responsibility—and accepted the military punishment himself: ninety-nine lashes.
None of it mattered now. Rebecca had already decided to divorce him.
On the day of her discharge, Samuel sent a car for her. With it arrived an evening gown, exquisite and unmistakably bespoke.
A message flashed on her phone.
Samuel: Rebecca, tonight you will be the most radiant woman in the room. I've arranged a grand celebration for our anniversary. Let this evening wash away every misunderstanding between us.
She glanced at the escort waiting outside and replied quietly.
Rebecca: Okay.
Then Rebecca remembered—the prenuptial agreement Vincent had insisted upon.
It stipulated that infidelity granted the wronged party an unconditional right to divorce.
Before so many witnesses, the esteemed "Mr. Wesley" could hardly go back on his word.
Tonight, the man who once promised to protect her forever would come for her.
Amid Samuel's guards, she stepped into the car.
The venue was lavish, exactly as Samuel preferred.
On stage, he spoke eloquently of his love for Rebecca, of their shared past. Warm applause rippled through the crowd.
Only Rebecca knew how hollow it all was.
Just as she prepared to rise and end the charade, a familiar face appeared before her.
"Ms. Summers, you and Sam truly have a legendary love story," Natalie remarked, her tone dripping with false sweetness.
Rebecca ignored her, but in the next instant, Natalie seized her wrist in a fierce grip.
"I do wonder, though," Natalie whispered, venom seeping into her voice, "after all these years, who does he truly care about? You... or me?"
A flash of malice lit Natalie's eyes.
Suddenly, she drove a knife deep into her own arm, then shoved the bloody handle into Rebecca's hand.
"Natalie, what are you playing at?" Rebecca demanded, her voice low.
Natalie's gaze locked onto hers, brimming with spite.
"It wasn't me—she did it herself!" Rebecca began, but Samuel was already looking at her, all former tenderness gone from his eyes.
His order came flat and detached. "In the military, personal jealousy is also subject to martial law. Even my wife is no exception."
Under Samuel's command, Rebecca was bound and suspended over a cliff's edge, a sheer drop yawning beneath her.
"Rebecca, do you admit your fault now?" Samuel looked down at her, his tone almost... disappointed.
Rebecca lifted her head, her voice raw. "I did nothing wrong! Samuel, check the surveillance—she set me up!"
Samuel merely glanced at her, then nodded to a soldier beside him.
The man's hand trembled as he lifted the whip. "Mr. Wesley... truly? She's... she's your wife. I can't..."
"Disobeying an order carries consequences you understand," Samuel replied, colder still.
The soldier clenched his jaw and brought the whip down.
The lash tore through fabric and skin.
Agony, sharp and deep, ripped through Rebecca.
She cried out—not from self-pity, but from sheer, overwhelming pain.
Her mind drifted back to years before, after a failed mission where a comrade had died before her eyes. She had crumpled in a hallway, sobbing uncontrollably.
Samuel had squatted beside her, clumsily wiping her tears, his own voice shaking. "Don't cry... it hurts me more than it hurts you."
He had kissed her cheeks, murmuring again and again, "I'm here... I've got you, sweetheart. Don't be afraid."
But now? That man seemed dead.
The whip fell—stroke after stroke—until Rebecca lost track. All that remained was a raw, searing fire across her back.
"Ninety-nine, sir." The soldier's voice was tight.
Ninety-nine lashes—the same number Samuel had once borne to save her from capture. Now she had returned every one.
As the soldier raised the whip again, his hand trembled. Samuel's patience had clearly worn thin. He moved closer, eyes bloodshot, and brushed a tear from Rebecca's cheek—a gesture hauntingly familiar.
"Do you admit your fault now? Just say you were wrong, and I'll let you go," he asked, his voice low.
A thread of suppressed anger ran through his words. "Natalie is still in surgery because of you—she nearly died. If I show mercy now, how can I lead? How can I enforce discipline?"
Rebecca lifted her head, her lips stained with blood. "I. Did. Not. Do. It. I won't apologize."
Samuel watched her for a long moment, then closed his eyes. "Continue."
The soldier lifted the whip when suddenly, a calm voice, carrying authority, cut through the air. "Just try and lay a hand on her."
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