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... lculating smirk of his—the one he always wore when he was about to say something brutal. His eyes narrowed just slightly, golden glow dancing in their depths like flickering judgment.

"Well, Samuel," he said, his voice calm yet sharp like a blade under silk, "I must say—you made your pathetic cheating wife's death into a goddamn masterpiece."

I chuckled darkly, resting my gauntlet-clad hand on my waist as memories flashed—bloodied silk sheets, the stench of betrayal, and the look ...

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