“Little i***t. You can’t wait to die after I spent a fortune reviving you?” Alphonso Koza said gloomily, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.
His brows wrinkled in a heavy frown, sharp lines etching across his handsome face.
That frown deepened when his eyes caught the sight of fresh red blooming across her chest. The blood had already soaked through the bandages and her thin patient gown, even leaving glaring crimson stains on his own pristine white shirt where she rested against him.
Easther froze.
So it was indeed her Master who saved her.
But why?
She was nothing more than a failure. An incompetent pupil, unworthy to even stand in his shadow. Why would he waste a fortune—resources, influence, rare medicine—just to drag her back from death?
The Sect would never have agr
