Jack had left, his departure as abrupt as his arrival. He never liked to linger in Gabriel's residence, for the house was saturated with bittersweet memories of the late Victoria—his wife and Gabriel's mother. Few would expect a man of such blood-soaked cruelty to have harbored a sincere, devoted love for one woman, but he had. Unfortunately, that same capacity for obsessive attachment had been inherited by his flesh and blood: Gabriel.
Gabriel, too, had once been profoundly attached to someone—a childhood friend named Valerie. They had been inseparable, their days filled with a simple, unguarded happiness. When Valerie was suddenly and irrevocably torn from his life, the young Gabriel collapsed inward, his grief festering and transforming him into the cruel, untouchable man he was today. His longing for her was so desperate that he eventually found a rented companion in a nightclub, a woman named Evelyn whose face bore an uncanny resemblance to Valerie's. Without a second thought, Gabriel claimed her and elevated her to a gilded position, a ghostly queen in a hollow court. This arrangement persisted to this day. Jack had tried numerous times to sever the tie between Gabriel and Evelyn, but Gabriel's threat was absolute: he would refuse the arranged marriage entirely if Jack laid a finger on her. That was the sole reason the wedding had proceeded without physical obstruction that afternoon. Gabriel's reluctant presence was all Jack needed; the legal union was his paramount objective.
Alone in the study now, Gabriel's cold gaze fell upon the gun lying on Jack's desk, the very instrument that had silenced Marcus. Felix stepped forward, retrieved the weapon, and placed it inside a locked glass cabinet mounted on the wall. Gabriel watched, his fingers drumming a silent, impatient rhythm on the arm of the leather sofa.
"Just leave it," Gabriel commanded, his voice flat.
Felix nodded and withdrew, leaving Gabriel alone to stare at the arsenal displayed behind the glass. Various weapons gleamed under the low light—pistols, knives, implements of precise violence. His mind, however, was elsewhere, contemplating what he might bring to his new wife's chamber tonight.
He rose with a fluid, predatory grace and approached the cabinet. With casual deliberation, he selected a stiletto knife with a brown handle made of heavy, cold-forged steel. Its blade was slender and viciously sharp. Slipping it into his pocket, he strode from the room. One hand remained in his trousers pocket; the other made no effort to conceal the dagger's distinctive handle. The message in his posture was clear.
Felix swallowed hard, falling into step behind his boss with obedient trepidation. No one dared to ask Gabriel who the next target might be. His calm expression and casual gait did nothing to mask the thick, rolling aura of lethal intent that preceded him.
"Boss, you…" Felix began, hesitating.
"Which wing is my wife's room in?" Gabriel cut him off, not even bothering to turn his head.
Was he truly going to kill the new wife? Felix's blood ran cold. "A-are you—"
"Are you deaf?" Gabriel's voice was a whiplash.
"M-my apologies, Boss. But your wife, which one—"
"Obviously my new wife. I've only been married twice. Have you gone senile?" Gabriel's sarcasm was as sharp as his blade.
Felix was rendered speechless. Albert, who had just returned from overseeing the grim cleanup, approached with more composure. "What is your intention regarding your new wife, Sir?" he asked carefully, positioning himself slightly ahead.
Gabriel offered a grim, humorless grin. "To fulfill my father's command, of course. The first night. A husband's duty."
"But, Sir—"
"Just tell me where the room is," Gabriel interrupted, his patience visibly thinning. "Ah, I recall. I told the staff to place her in the east wing."
As Gabriel moved purposefully toward the private elevator, Albert and Felix shared a panicked look. "What if he truly means to end Miss Marsha's life tonight?" Felix whispered, his face ashen.
"I know. Contact Mr. Jack immediately and inform him of the situation," Albert instructed under his breath. "I will try to delay him."
If Marsha were to die this night, Jack's wrath would be catastrophic, and the household staff would be the first casualties. Felix nodded, peeling away with a tense expression to make the call. Albert hurried to catch up to Gabriel, who was already pressing the elevator button.
"Boss, perhaps it would be best not to disturb her tonight," Albert ventured, stepping into the elevator beside him. "The bride must be exhausted from the day's events."
"Your concern is unnecessary," Gabriel replied, his eyes fixed on the ascending floor numbers.
"But, Sir, I must insist—"
"Albert," Gabriel's tone dropped, becoming dangerously quiet. "Have your men finished disposing of my father's mess? The body?"
The corpse. In his anxiety, Albert had forgotten. Marcus's remains needed to be fed to the estate's lions to erase all evidence. His focus fractured, his primary mission to protect the new wife momentarily forgotten. "I… I will see to it immediately."
A faint, cynical smirk touched Gabriel's lips as the elevator doors opened. Did these fools think they could manipulate him? Tonight, he would teach this woman a definitive lesson. Her very presence had disrupted his life and given Jack a new weapon to wield against him.
---
Unaware of the deadly debate unfolding elsewhere in the mansion, Seraphina had fallen into a deep, sound sleep. The room was dark, as she preferred, the only light a sliver of moonlight filtering through the heavy curtains. An immense quiet enveloped the space, so profound it was unnerving. The mansion, for all its underlying malevolence, was impeccably insulated; no sound from the lavish hell beyond her door could penetrate the stillness. This silence, however, bothered her. It was the silence of a trap, lulling one into vulnerability, dulling the sharp edge of vigilance.
As it was, Seraphina did not hear her door open. The intrusion was executed with a silence that spoke of practiced skill. Only a faint shift in the air, a subtle change in pressure, triggered her subconscious instincts. From the depths of sleep, her training took over. Her hand slid slowly, imperceptibly beneath the pillow, her fingers closing around the cool, familiar hilt of a concealed knife. Her body remained still, but every sense was now acutely, dangerously awake.
The mattress dipped slightly as a weight settled on the edge of the bed. Then, a larger presence moved over her, blocking the faint moonlight. In a flash of coordinated motion, Seraphina erupted from her feigned sleep, her arm arcing upward with lethal speed, the blade aimed for a vulnerable point.
But her opponent was faster. A steely hand caught her wrist in a vise-like grip mid-air, halting the knife mere inches from its target. The reaction time was inhuman.
In the oppressive dark, Seraphina could not see his face, but her other senses provided the answer. The scent that filled the space around her was distinct—a masculine mix of sandalwood, expensive soap, and a faint, sharp trace of nicotine. It was familiar, imprinted on her memory from their brief, tense proximity at the altar.
A low, dark chuckle vibrated through the darkness, warm breath ghosting across her skin. Gabriel's voice, a menacing whisper, cut through the silence.
"Do you intend to murder your own husband?"
***
Seraphina jolted, a stark realization dawning: Gabriel was not an opponent she could easily overcome. She released a long, controlled breath, her fingers—which had been gripping the folding knife—trembled slightly before the weapon dropped silently onto the thick duvet.
With a cynical curl of his lip, Gabriel eyed the fallen blade. "You dropped your knife? Changed your mind about killing me, hm?" he sneered, a mocking click of his tongue echoing in the dark room. "How disappointing."
A veneer of calm still radiated from Seraphina's eyes, even as her heart simmered. Years of training had honed her ability to control her temper; losing composure meant mission failure.
"Gabriel, are you drunk?" she asked, her voice steady.
He let out a low, derisive chuckle. "Calling me by my name so boldly. You have nerve, little bought wife." Seraphina's cheeks flushed, not just from anger but from the sting of the truth in his words.
"Bought wife?" she repeated, her voice trembling faintly.
"Of course. Your family sold you for money." Gabriel's words were a cold, deliberate blade.
Seraphina gritted her teeth, her hands clenching into fists so tight her nails bit into her palms. She hated that reality, yet Gabriel spoke the truth. Tony had essentially offered Marsha as a tool to settle a debt, a transaction. By taking her sister's place, Seraphina had implicitly accepted the terms of that sale. She wrestled her emotions back under a steel cage, her composure returning. "So, what now? You've come to claim your purchased goods?"
Gabriel's grin was a cynical slash in the shadows. "Ah, you know the old fossil wants an heir. But you don't actually think I'd soil myself by touching you, do you?"
"No," Seraphina stated flatly.
"Good, if you understand. So, you will do it with one of my men. One, two, I don't care," Gabriel said, his gaze dripping with contempt as it swept over her in the dim light. "Conceive a brat, then tell the old man you're giving him the descendant he craves."
"I would rather die," Seraphina retorted, her voice cold and unwavering.
Gabriel's anger, a constant simmer beneath his surface, flared anew. This woman had audacity. How dare she cling to pride when she was here for material gain? It was hypocritical and revolting. He despised such women.
"So you choose death over obeying me? Fine, let's play your game." In a blur of motion, Gabriel drew his stiletto knife and pressed its chilling tip against the delicate column of Seraphina's throat. She remained perfectly still, offering no resistance. He was certain he'd hear suppressed sobs, see the fear break her. "Just submit. Do as I wish."
The blade pressed deeper. A searing pain bloomed, and a warm trickle of blood began a slow descent down her neck. Gabriel would never admit it, but the metallic scent of her blood, so innocent and pure, was strangely intoxicating to his predator's senses. Yet, despite the pain, Seraphina's resolve didn't waver. Sleep with a stranger to bear a child? The very idea was an abomination. Did she look like a common whore to him?
"You're testing me? I'll make sure you regret it before you savor death," Gabriel hissed, increasing the pressure. He was convinced she would break. "If you want to whimper and cry, do it. But do it silently. I hate noise."
His grim satisfaction was short-lived. The bedroom door burst open, and stark electric light flooded the room, revealing the brutal scene.
Gabriel's eyes flickered. His brow twitched as he saw, in the harsh light, the crimson trail blooming from Seraphina's neck, staining her ivory skin and the scandalous silk of her nightgown. Yet, what gave him pause was not the blood, but Seraphina's eyes. They were pools of unsettling calm. No grimace of pain, no flicker of fear. She met his gaze with a flat, emotionless stare, as if detached from her own injury.
"Boss, forgive the intrusion. But Mr. Jack is in the elevator, heading this way," Albert's voice broke the tense silence, filled with urgent apprehension. He hoped the mention of Jack would make Gabriel relent.
There was no immediate answer. The newlyweds, who should have been entwined in affection, were locked in a silent battle of wills, their exchanged glances indecipherable to the alarmed steward.
"Boss, Mr. Jack will be here any moment—" Albert tried again.
"Mr. Gabriel!" A new voice, a maid from the north wing, interrupted from the doorway, her face pale. "Forgive me, but Madam Evelyn… she has suddenly developed a high fever!"
Evelyn.
That single name acted like a magic spell. In less than two seconds, Gabriel was on his feet, his attention completely diverted. He turned a sharp, penetrating gaze on the maid. "What happened? Why is my wife feverish? Have you called the doctor?" He strode quickly toward the door, the panic in his voice a stark contrast to his earlier cruelty. Seraphina observed it all with an internal, cynical whisper.
Ah, what a sweet domestic tableau.
She calmly accepted the clean handkerchief Albert hurriedly offered and pressed it to her wound.
"Are you alright, Miss?" Albert asked, his expression deeply worried.
"This is preferable to a foolish death on my wedding night," Seraphina replied, the ghost of a smile on her lips. Tonight, Albert concluded, his master's lawful wife was a creature of ice and remarkable composure. She seemed utterly unperturbed by the wound on her neck.
Albert cleared his throat, somewhat reassured by her calm demeanor. "I shall call the family physician immediately."
"That won't be necessary. I prefer not to make a spectacle," Seraphina said, rising from the bed. As she did, Albert belatedly registered her state of undress and quickly averted his eyes, his cheeks warming. He wondered how his master could have remained so unaffected by her arresting presence.
"You said Mr. Jack was coming. That was a lie, wasn't it?" Seraphina stated more than asked as she walked to the vanity.
"Yes, Miss. I was forced to deceive him. I feared you would be…" Albert trailed off.
"Harmed?" Seraphina finished for him, opening a drawer to search for something to stanch the bleeding. "The moment I decided to marry your master, I anticipated this."
"Is that why you remained so calm?"
"Naturally. Though, Gabriel seemed equally calm about harming someone. Is he truly so accustomed to it?"
"Yes, Miss," Albert admitted somberly, retrieving a small first-aid kit from the adjoining bathroom—a standard fixture in every room of the mansion, given the frequent… incidents. He watched as Seraphina swept her long, dark hair over one shoulder, an act that made her appear a thousand times more captivating than she had at the altar, even with the blood on her skin. "I did warn you not to provoke his anger."
"I was merely sleeping in my bed. He provoked himself. Your master is the source of his own anger," Seraphina pointed out logically.
Albert's mouth opened and closed without sound. While he privately agreed, voicing such an opinion was tantamount to career suicide.
With efficient movements, Seraphina cleaned the blood from her neck, applied antiseptic, and secured a small bandage over the shallow cut.
"Speaking of which," she began, her tone conversational, "my husband's first wife has taken ill with a fever?"
Albert stiffened, caught off guard. "Y-yes?"
Seraphina smiled, closing the first-aid kit with a soft click. "Why so nervous? It was just a question." She tilted her head, a glint of calculated curiosity in her eyes. "In fact, I think I should pay her a visit tonight. It's only proper for the new wife to acquaint herself with the senior one, don't you think? To ensure… harmonious relations and avoid any future misunderstandings."