Benedict's POV
The leather chair in my private study creaked as I settled back, phone glowing in the darkness. Kaelen's desperate voice message had reached Percival minutes ago. By now, the little witch would be listening to every tortured word. By now, her precious family would be scrambling like rats in a maze.
I could see it all unfolding. Genevieve's granite-faced father finally showing cracks in his composure. Her mother pacing the room with trembling hands, feigning ignorance. And sweet Genevieve herself, drowning in guilt over the witch I'd forced her to murder, while I held Kaelen's mother's life like a blade to her throat.
Exquisite. Simply exquisite.
My thumb traced over Genevieve's contact. Should I let her marinate in panic a little longer? Let the terror really take root?
No. Strike while the wound was fresh. While daddy's lecture still rang in her ears. While the blood on her hands still felt warm.
I hit call.
One ring. Two rings. Three.
