Helena's shoulders sagged. She exhaled shakily, not even having the energy to be angry. Just defeated. Humiliated.
She turned away from Mira, taking a step toward the door. Her hand still pressed against her ass, each movement making her wince.
"Young master will be doing his training," Helena said, her voice hollow and mechanical. "He'll take a bath afterwards. I'm going to prepare it."
She took another agonizing step.
"Until then... go check on him."
Mira's eyes widened. "Wait—how can I—"
But Helena's back was already to her.
And what a back it was.
Even through the pain, even through the destruction, Helena's body was a work of art. Her hourglass physique curved dramatically—thick waist flaring into massive hips and that criminally fat ass. Her milky white skin glowed in the dawn light, unmarred except for the finger bruises.
The perfect arch of her spine created that ideal fuck-me curve—the kind that made men want to grab her hips and rail her from behind.
