"You look surprised—but you clearly wanted me to kill him," the butler said calmly, his tone as smooth and cold as the blood still glistening faintly on his hand.
Rymora's breath hitched, her eyes widening in shock. Every word he spoke was true, painfully so. She had wanted Gregory dead, had wanted the torment and betrayal to end—but she had never voiced it. What startled her more than the act itself was how the butler knew. How could he have known what she hadn't dared to say aloud?
The vampire butler said nothing further as he reached into his pocket and drew out a crisp, white handkerchief. His movements were methodical—almost eerily so—as he wiped the blood from his hand, slow deliberate strokes until not a trace of red remained. The cloth, once pure white, was now stained with faint streaks of crimson. He folded it neatly before slipping it back into his coat, his composure as flawless as ever.
