Timothy lowered his head slightly.
“Yes, Mr. Graves.”
But he hesitated for just a second.
“Sir… maybe you want to see her before she leaves? Talk to her?”
Magnus’s eyes darkened dangerously.
“What did I just fucking say?” he growled.
His voice was lower now. Deadlier.
“Do you understand or not?”
Timothy lowered his head immediately.
“Yes, Mr. Graves,” he replied obediently.
Silence filled the room except for Magnus’s heavy breathing.
“Now get out,” Magnus ordered hoarsely. “Leave me alone.”
“Yes, sir. Good night.”
Timothy gave him one last worried look before turning and walking out of the house. The door shut quietly behind him.
The house fell into complete silence.
Magnus remained on the floor, leaning against the couch, the whiskey bottle still in his hand.
He lifted the bottle again and kept drinking until it was empty.
The alcohol burned through his system, heavy and suffocating. His head spun violently, his chest tight as if he couldn’t breathe properly.
Eventually, the bottle slipped from his fingers and rolled across the floor.
The alcohol flooding his system was finally too much. His head spun violently. His breathing became uneven, shallow. His body slid slightly to the side, slumping against the couch.
And finally—
He lost consciousness.
He didn’t even realize when his eyes finally shut.
The alcohol dragged him under slowly.
His grip loosened.
His head tilted to the side.
He didn’t even realize when his eyes closed.
One moment he was drinking.
Next, everything went dark.
The night passed in silence.
