Shattered Confidence
After finishing the soup in one go, Dario Ashbourne grabbed Steffan's arm and said, "Come on, Steffan, let's go inside."
The bowl had barely left his hand when he rose from the sofa. The bitterness of the medicinal soup still lingered on his tongue, but compared to the torment he had endured for the past two years, such bitterness meant nothing.
To him, it tasted like hope.
The hall of the Ashbourne villa was brightly lit, yet an unusual stillness hung in the air. Everyone's eyes followed the two men as they headed toward the bedroom. Some were hopeful. Some were skeptical.
Felberta Ashbourne slowly lowered the book in her hands.
Her crimson eyes lingered on Steffan's departing figure.
For some reason, an uneasy feeling stirred within her chest.
It was not fear.
Nor was it suspicion supported by evidence.
It was simply an instinct she could not explain.
