The Marquess lifted his chin slightly, though his hands trembled.
"You said only if she died would you negotiate."
Demian stepped closer until only inches separated them.
"And you truly did it."
There was no admiration in his voice.
Only judgment.
"Now tell me," Demian continued in a low tone, "did you kill her for your family… or because you could not bear to see your own failure living before you?"
The Marquess's composure cracked for the first time.
"Do not speak as though you are holier than I," he whispered. "You are the one who lit this fire."
Demian did not deny it.
But neither did he accept the accusation entirely.
"I gave you a choice," he said. "You were the one who chose."
The room filled with a heavy stillness.
Between the two men stood a truth that could not be undone Ivanka was dead.
And her death was no longer merely a tragedy.
It was proof of how far ambition could devour a father.
Demian stepped back.
