The Gilded Cage Of Crimson
The phantom scent of industrial bleach, copper, and the sickening of the enforcer's jaw hung in his nostrils, refusing to clear.
He had reached the absolute boundary of his psychological endurance. The elite black-operations machine, the unyielding stone mask of the Ghost, was fracturing from the inside out, splitting under the immense, crushing pressure of the murders he had just authorized to keep his cover intact.
Isabella was standing by the tall terrace doors, her midnight-blue silk gown pooled around her bare feet. The room was dark, illuminated only by the bleak, monochromatic light of the pre-dawn sky. She turned slowly, her dark eyes tracking his silhouette in the gloom.
Hot Chapters