Down I went into the depths—into the dungeon, where fire dared not feast on stone. I thundered down the stairs, two at a time.
Inside the cell, Malik lay slumped, dead—a final victim of poison, flame, and fate.
I whirled around just in time to hear the coughing—a ragged, dying sound from the rubble.
“Who’s there?” I shouted.
A hoarse voice cracked through the smoke. “M-Master… It’s me. Peter… your groomsman…”
I spun, spotting the broken, blistered form crawling through ash and flame.
“I came to save you,” he rasped. “But I couldn’t find you. I thought I was too late…”
His skin was ghost-white, slick with sweat, bubbling from brutal burns. He wouldn’t last long. I knelt beside him.
“Who set this fire?” I demanded, seizing his arm. “Did you see anyone?”
He coughed again—wet, violent. “It was… a woman…”
My blood turned to ice.
“Alina,” I breathed. Then louder—furious—“Alina!”
I exploded with rage, pacing the hallway like a beast chained too long. “Sheusedme. The whole time. Lied to my face. Fucked Costa behind my back—again and again.”
I roared and slammed my fists against the stone hearth. Blood smeared across the rock. I didn’t care.
“She betrayed me in the worst fucking way possible,” I snarled. “All that talk of love, of loyalty—it was all a lie!”
Pain ripped through my chest. She hadn’t just turned her back on me. She’d burned it all down.
“Alina wanted power,” I growled. “And power overme.And I… I was just her stepping stone.”
Insane with rage and heartbreak, I staggered from the smoldering ruins of my estate. The place that had once been my kingdom now lay in ash and ruin. The life I’d built was gone—shehad taken it all. There was nothing left for me but blood.
And so, I killed.
For days, the town lived in terror, haunted by me, a storm cloaked in flesh. I became an unstoppable reaper of souls, a nightmare whispered from trembling lips. I took pleasure in the artistry of death. Some fell quickly, a blade through the heart or a twist of the neck. Others… I lingered. I made their ends slow. Intimate. I carved suffering into their final gasps like an artist etching agony into canvas.
Not a single soul was spared. Not one. I became death incarnate—and I fed the world my wrath.
But the thrill dulled. The rage hollowed out.
Slaughter no longer soothed the gaping hole where my heart once burned. It didn’t silence the echo of her lies or the sting of her betrayal. I was empty. Numb.
With nothing left to feel, I vanished into the fade.
When I reappeared, it was in the highlands of Scotland, in one of my most remote hunting lodges—a fortress carved from black obsidian and ancient granite, perched among pine-covered cliffs. Gothic spires clawed at the sky, casting long, angry shadows across the mist-laced grounds.
The estate sprawled across the forested hills like a slumbering beast. The iron gates creaked open at my touch, revealing manicured lawns, twisted oleander bushes, and a brook that dared to babble like it hadn’t witnessed a god’s unraveling.
I ignored it all. Beauty was meaningless now.
There was only one thing that could make me whole again—the murder of Alina Tocino.
Desperately, I longed to feel joy again—to be wrapped in the warmth I once knew with Zara and our daughters. I had dared to believe that Alina might return that bliss to me, that perhaps shecould resurrect the light I’d buried with the dead. But instead, she’d torn my heart to ribbons. She’d fed me poison cloaked as love and left me bleeding in a sea of sorrow without end.
The air inside the house was thick, musty with disuse and rot. I dragged my feet through the drawing room, past the once-proud mahogany panels and tall velvet drapes, across thick carpets dulled by time. I collapsed onto the dust-covered sofa, releasing a cloud of grime that made me cough. I threw an arm over my eyes, as if blocking out the world could erase the torment inside me.
