Then he pulled me into his arms. Warm. Strong. Trembling just slightly with the force of his conviction. That embrace—and that blood oath—had branded themselves into my memory like a scar.
But that boy was long dead.
He'd grown into a cold, calculating man who looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was disposable. Like I was a loose end waiting to be tied off.
Now, he was the one hurting me the most.
I stumbled toward the estate's side entrance, the one the servants used. The edges of my vision darkened, collapsing inward like a dying star.
But before I hit the ground—I fell into someone's arms.
A stranger's arms. Firm and unfamiliar, smelling of expensive tobacco and something darker. Something dangerous.
Before the blackness swallowed me whole, I heard a single whisper against the shell of my ear—a voice like smoke and shadows.
"Do you want revenge?"
The words curled around me like a devil's bargain, offered at the crossroads of desperation and death.
"In exchange for those stakes you just signed away… I'll help you find the proof of who really killed your mother."