Bailey’s POV
The candlelight flickered across the parchment, shadows dancing like conspirators on the walls. Kane sat opposite me, his grin sharp and devious, while Lola hovered nervously near the door, wringing her hands. The ink bled slowly from my quill, each stroke deliberate, venom disguised as elegance.
The letter had to be perfect. Not too obvious, not too vague. Just enough to plant doubt in Phantom’s mind, to make Maryelle’s loyalty look fractured, to make him question the very foundation of their bond.
“Read it again,” Kane murmured, his voice low, dangerous.
I did. Every word dripped with suggestion, carefully crafted to sound like Lucian’s hand. A confession of meetings that never happened, promises whispered in shadows, hints of a bond Maryelle had supposedly hidden.
