QUEEN SURGEON OF RUIN
Her voice was ice and velvet.
I looked up.
Veronica stood over me like a goddess of judgment. White coat immaculate, dark hair pinned back severely, exposing the long column of her neck I used to mark. Her expression revealed nothing. No triumph. No hatred. Just calm, absolute control.
It was more devastating than rage.
I pushed the signed contract toward her with shaking fingers.
“Signed in blood,” I rasped. “As fitting.”
She crouched gracefully, picked up the folder, and examined my bloody signature with clinical detachment. A faint smile touched her lips—small, satisfied, and so fucking beautiful it hurt.