Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Such stubborn bravery.
Such beautiful defiance.
I bent down, leaning closer to Lucca’s face, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You should have thought of that before you betrayed us.”
I slit his throat in one clean, swift motion.
Blood sprayed across the room, splattering Serafina’s face and dress. She flinched but didn’t make a sound, didn’t close her eyes. She watched as Lucca’s body went limp, as his life drained away onto the concrete floor.
Her hands gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white.
I wiped the blade on my pants before placing it back onto the metal table and approached my wife.
I grabbed her face, my bloodied fingers smearing crimson across her pale, porcelain cheeks. Her eyes were wide with terror, traumatized.
“That’s what happens to people who betray me,” I told her, my voice low and dangerous. “Remember that, wife.”
I released her, stepping back. “Now go. Run to your room, to your sanctuary.”
She stood slowly, her movements deliberate despite the obvious trembling of her limbs. Her shoulders remained straight, her chin lifted. She didn’t run.
Instead, she walked to the door with measured steps, her head held high, her back rigid.
She never looked back at me as she ascended their stairs, leaving me alone with the corpse and the blood.
I watched her go, a strange mixture of pride and fury churning in my gut. She was stronger than I had given her credit for. More dangerous.
She exited the basement, and closed the door behind her.
And then… I heard it, the erratic shuffling of her feet.
I chuckled, imagining her running back to her room, frightened and shaking from what she had just witnessed.
Serafina wanted to show me how strong she was, how strong she could be…
But in reality…
Death was a darkness her fragile soul was never meant to carry.
It was too cruel of a burden.
My wife could be vicious, but she could never kill.
We had waged war on each other, and through this bitter hate, this hostile resentment had come to be a reckless obsession that would consume us both.
Only one of us would survive the monsters we had become.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Serafina
I rushed into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me, my hands trembling so violently I could barely turn the lock. I collapsed against the closed door, heart hammering in my chest.
The blood. God, the blood.
It had been everywhere. And it was all on me.
I could still feel the warmth of it as it had sprayed across my skin, the copper tang filling my nostrils until I thought I might suffocate.
The scent of it clung to my skin, my hair, my clothes…a visceral reminder of what I had just witnessed. Lucca’s face, the terror in his eyes, the gurgling sound as his life drained away onto that cold concrete floor.
“God,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I stared down at my hands. They were stained crimson, flecks of blood spattered across my skin like macabre freckles. My dress—once a beautiful cream silk—was now ruined, soaked through with the evidence of Adrian’s brutality.
“You’re fine,” I said to myself.
But I wasn’t fine.
I didn’t think I would ever be fine again.
My stomach lurched again, bile rising in my throat as I stumbled toward the bathroom. I had to get it off me. All of it. Now.
I had maintained my composure downstairs. Had walked away with my head held high, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
But now, alone in my room, those carefully constructed walls crumbled.
I had just witnessed a man’s death tonight.
A cruel, heartless death.
I tore at my dress, fumbling with the buttons, my fingers clumsy, the expensive fabric ripping as I frantically pulled it over my head. I couldn’t get it off fast enough. The blood had dried, making the material stick to my skin in places. I gagged, fighting back the urge to vomit as I finally managed to free myself.
Adrian had made me watch. God, how ruthless could he be?
I turned the water on full blast, as hot as it would go. Steam filled the bathroom as I stepped under the scalding spray, my skin immediately turning red. I didn’t care.
I needed to burn the memory away, to scrub every trace of what I had witnessed from my body.
I grabbed the soap, lathering it between my hands before scrubbing at my face, my arms, my chest. The water ran pink around my feet, swirling down the drain—but no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t wash away the memory.
I scrubbed until my skin stung, until it felt raw and tender. Still, I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t stop.
The blood was gone, but I could still feel it. Still see it.
A small, choked sob escaped me as I slid down the shower wall and wrapped my arms around myself, rocking back and forth as tears mixed with the hot water streaming down my face.