He sat there, staring blankly at the box of pastries on the table, the taste still lingering in his mouth, exactly as he remembered it. It felt like something deep inside him was quietly crumbling.
Philip Allen instinctively ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed tightly, his expression one of deep pain. "How is this possible? Can two different people really create the exact same taste?"
And what about Martin Riley? Did he taste it too?
From what Philip had uncovered, Martin Riley hadn't liked his wife, Sylvia Byrne, at all. In fact, he seemed to despise her. But shortly after Crystal Foster's death, Martin's attitude towards Sylvia changed.
Could it be because of these pastries?
A flood of questions filled Philip's mind, and he couldn't find any answers. Now, he was hesitant. Should he continue with his plans?
