Suddenly, Bennett’s voice cut through the hush of the night like a lead weight, each word dredged up from the icy depths of a frozen lake—raw, biting, and heavy with years of pent-up grief.
“They… were killed by Yale Locke.”
He spat out the words, the corners of his mouth twisting into a bitter, self-mocking smile—one laced with nothing but anguish and a searing loathing for his own powerlessness.
“And I… I stayed by his side for all those years. Even let myself be fooled by his mask of virtue, treating a thief like a father. It’s—God, it’s laughable, isn’t it?”
Gwyneth’s heart clenched painfully in her chest.
Oh my God.
So that was it.
She’d always suspected Yale was ruthless, but she’d never imagined he was capable of something so monstrous.
How much had Bennett suffered all this time?
She’d long guessed that Bennett’s history with the Locke family was complicated—and far from friendly—but she hadn’t expected wounds this deep, this bloody.
She could feel the storm raging beneath his calm voice, the crushing weight of guilt and hatred threatening to drown him.
Without thinking, she reached out and gently patted his back, the gesture awkward but undeniably sincere—a quiet attempt to comfort.
“It’s okay… It’s all over now.”
She gazed at his profile, sharp and cold in the moonlight, her tone soft but unwavering.
“I know you. You’re not like him. Back then… you must have had your reasons, or maybe you were deceived. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
Her trust was like a slender ray of light, piercing through the darkness that had frozen his heart for so long.
Bennett’s thoughts, drawn by her words, were dragged back to the memories he tried so hard to bury—the ones that gnawed at him every sleepless night.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they burned red, a wildfire of hatred flickering deep within.



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