Killian Devonshire didnt keep anyone who betrayed him alive, since he had come of age.
There were many cases.
A nanny, who had sold all of his information to the Queen the year he turned fourteen; a servant, who had attempted to assassinate him when he was studying abroad; a professor, who acted clean and pure, but behind the scenes tried to gain the backing of the duke.
All of them went missing, disappeared without a trace.
No one noticed.
This was because once a body decomposed and rose to the surface, it was difficult to tell its identity.
There were no exceptions there.
Of course this had to be the case, even for Rowena Philone.
I have to smash that hateful face, cut out the tongue that spoke of love, gouge out the eyes that looked at another man, another man who was not me.
And I will throw her cold body into the sea with no regrets.
So death was actually not a distant thought for Rowena Philone.
Ever since Killian Devonshire had welcomed Rowena Philone as his mistress, many had died because of her, more than she could count.
Poisoned to death, stabbed to death by an unidentified person, sometimes killed in a carriage accident, or crushed to death by a pillar in a fire accident.
For this reason, throughout the past three years, Killian kept his surroundings in check like a hounds eyes observing in the dark.
He knew that the moment he let his guard down, even a little, fangs as sharp as a viper would tear through his mistress.
Once he chose to let go of her hand, there would be nothing to stop the approaching danger.
Because the Queen would never miss an opportunity.
As Killian leaned his head against the bed, he stared silently at the woman lying next to him.
Her thin frame stood out in the dimming daylight.
Her blond hair, loose like golden threads, covered the top of the bed; her cheeks, red as summer peaches; her slender and soft shoulders and arms.
The more he looked at her, the more he found that there was no sign of a sex worker.
It was the face of a pure angel who knew nothing.
It was the face of the girl he had met for the first time; the girl whose face had turned red as she smiled shyly at him.
A large hand ran down her smooth cheek and swept over her neck.
Rowena Philone was different from all the people he had killed so far.
This woman belonged to him from head to toe.
She was entirely his possession.
He would rather kill her directly by strangling her now, than see her as a corpse when she is killed by someone elses hands.
With a casual look on his face, Killian thought of Rowena, who was clinging to him.
At first he held her hand, baffled by the situation.
Of course, even if he asked, there would be no reply from her.
If he were to climb over her, he could hold her neck and use more pressure with both of his hands.
He wondered if this woman would still look beautiful even when she desperately gasped for air.
The moment he lightly grabbed her neck with one hand, Killian was met with a pair of lively, greenish eyes.
She yawned lazily, making his hands pause.
Rowena called out to him.
“Am I dreaming…”