Chapter 96

After a good beating, Bartholomew finally calmed down.

Grace’s bedroom was unbearably silent with a lingering scent of whiskey and blood. She sat on the bed, motionless. Her back was straight, but there was no strength in it, no defiance. Just stillness. Her hands lay limply in her lap, her fingers slightly curled as if she had forgotten how to hold onto anything.

Marco was on his bended knee, dipping a cloth into the basin of warm water and pressing it gently against the cut on her cheek. He had seen Grace hurt before. He had seen her bleed, watched her pull herself back up with that stubborn will of hers. But now... she didn’t even flinch.

Her eyes which were once sharp and defiant, now stared at the wall, unfocused, as if she were looking through it. Marco’s jaw tightened.

He wanted to say something, anything, but before he could, she spoke.

“Would it make everyone happy if I had just died?”

His hand froze mid-motion. His heart did too.