Zara’s shriek tore through the estate once more as Damian severed her remaining arm without blinking. Blood splattered across the stone floor in an arc, painting a crimson trail in his wake. He tossed the severed limb into the bubbling oil, his expression as calm as ever — like a chef tending to a pot of stew.The oil hissed and spit.

He crouched, waiting.

Watching.

And when the meat began to darken — its texture warping with heat — he retrieved it using a long iron rod. Without a word, ...