An hour later, Robert pushed open the door to Private Room 308.
He had replayed this moment countless times in his mind.
He'd pictured Monica on her knees, tearful and remorseful, begging for his forgiveness.
A faint smile tugged at his lips—he could already see her broken, humble state.
He planned to settle down with her afterward and give her peace.
Yet the sight that greeted him was puddles of dried blood across the floor.
Shattered glass fragments were scattered everywhere, and a thick, sharp metallic stench hung in the air, bitter enough to turn one's stomach.
The private room stood completely empty.
Robert froze in the doorway. An invisible hand clamped tightly around his heart, making every breath heavy and labored.
Two servers whispered just outside the door, voices thick
