The Luther Family ancestral home.
The atmosphere in the living room was suffocatingly tense.
"Cough... cough—"
A sharp pain in his chest sent Micheal into a fit of coughing, streaks of crimson blood seeping from the corners of his lips.
His already pallid face grew even more ashen, his frail frame trembling.
Sinclair watched coldly, the pressure of his foot increasing mercilessly.
His narrow, obsidian-dark eyes brimmed with a predatory cruelty, a storm of violence swirling within.
Grandpa Luther opened his mouth as if to speak but ultimately turned his gaze away, remaining silent..
Though he didn't know the full extent of Micheal's transgressions, the sheer fury in Sinclair's reaction told him they were unforgivable. Besides.
The chance had been given. Whether Micheal lived or died now was the fate he had chosen for himself.
"Camilla,"
Grandpa Luther softened his expression, turning to Camilla.
"Come, keep this old man company in the back for a while."
