The living room was silent as Sinclair descended the stairs with measured steps.
The warmth in his eyes had vanished the moment he left Camilla's side, replaced by an icy ruthlessness that sharpened his striking features into something terrifying.
Ramsey and Luke, who had been waiting downstairs, immediately rose to their feet and bowed their heads in deference.
"President Luther—"
Sinclair didn't acknowledge them.
Instead, he strode toward the elevator leading to the basement.
The man imprisoned down there wouldn't live to see another day.
Exchanging a knowing glance, Ramsey and Luke fell into step behind him, flanking him on either side.
Deep within the basement, in a dimly lit cell, Micheal lay on a narrow cot, his face ashen, his hollow eyes brimming with despair.
Time had lost all meaning in this place. Michael had no idea how long he'd been trapped here.
Now, his only hope was that Camilla would fail in transferring the parasitic curse.
