In the cramped space, Eleanor curled up into a ball, her hands tightly hugging her legs, her body trembling under her thin clothing, covered in bruises.
Her eyes were lifeless, and she even dared not meet anyone's gaze.
Had Charlotte not seen this woman, her niece by blood, at the Moon Guardian Duke's banquet, it would have been difficult for her to associate this trembling, helpless woman with the dazzling noblewoman she had seen at the party.
And the numerous scars on her body, which could not have been made in a single day, almost directly pointed to the identity of the abuser—
Being a high-ranking duchess and the wife of a royal family member, who else but her husband, Third Prince Philip, had both the ability and audacity to commit such an act?
The nobles present were no fools and quickly understood the reasoning behind it, their expressions subtly changing.
Charlotte's face also turned grim; she snorted coldly and cursed:
"What a scumbag!"
