RAFAEL
I could smell the fear and cheap perfume the second I stepped onto the executive floor. My leathers still carried the scent of gunpowder and the warehouse. I hadn’t bothered changing. Let them see the Reaper walking among them in broad daylight. The few employees brave enough to look at me quickly found something very interesting on their screens.
But my eyes were only searching for one person.
Isabella.
Instead, I found Alexander Moreau’s office door slightly ajar. And her scent; that soft vanilla and warm skin smell that drove me insane was coming from inside.
I pushed the door open without knocking. The scene in front of me made my blood turn to ice and then lava in the span of a heartbeat. Isabella stood there, trembling, one hand pressed to her reddened cheek. Moreau was
