"Do it, Vivienne."
Alex's voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of a gavel. He stood behind Jennifer, his shadow stretching over her arched back, his hands resting on her hips with an iron-like stillness.
Vivienne's breath hitched. She looked at the clear, viscous gel coating her palms, then at the small, tight, and terrified entry of her daughter.
"Master... please," Vivienne whispered, a final, flickering spark trying to resist.
"Do it, Mother."
Jennifer's voice cut through Vivienne's hesitation, sharp and brittle like breaking glass. She didn't lift her head from Helena's thighs, but the venom in her tone was unmistakable.
"Prepare me exactly how Master wants,"
Jennifer rasped, her fingers digging into the edge of the mahogany table until her knuckles turned a ghostly white.
She turned her head just enough to catch her mother's eye, a dark, triumphant light gleaming through the tears of terror.
