Ricardo
That fragile look, that mask of dread, is all I wanted. But when she ran away, a low groan escaped my lips.
I wanted her to pay. I wanted her to suffer. But why did I feel something stirred in me when our gaze locked?
Why did it matter to me?
"Guards," I called out, and two guards appeared before me.
I instructed them on what to do. My jaw clenched as they left after hesitating for a while. Their eyes lingered on the blood scattered all over the floor. But that wasn't the look I needed.
I hated sympathy. I disliked it like a plague, especially when it came from the very people I should be protecting.
It tore something sacred in my heart. A realization of my predicament hit me harder than ever.
I tugged my lips to the side, eyes falling on an empty glass on the bar shelf.
I was about to take a large gulp of the liquid when I heard a mind link, but I ignored whoever was calling me.
It didn't matter; never would.
