Chapter Seventy Nine

Edwina

The news about the attack on Max earlier this morning spread like wildfire, each telling more dramatic than the last. Some whispered that he had been gravely injured defending himself against intruders, while others claimed he was on his deathbed. Deathbed.

The word alone made my stomach twist. But I knew Max better than most. Even his little finger could inflict enough pain to make someone regret ever crossing him. The man wasn’t just strong—he was relentless, and that terrified people as much as it fascinated me.

I thought back to the first time he’d been robbed, on his very first day in Havindelle. He’d been weakened by illness then, too sick to deal with those men the way he normally would have. That had been the only reason they’d gotten away.

If by some slim chance these attackers were the same set of people, I knew Max wouldn’t have let them go scot-free this time. Not Max. He wasn’t the type to forgive and forget—not when betrayal or violence was involved.

I asked Mo