Chapter 3

Honestly, after so many years on the job, I'd gotten used to seeing all sorts of bodies.

Compared to victims of car wrecks or jumpers, at least Crispin was still whole.

But for some reason, the candle just wouldn't catch today.

After three sticks broke one after another, I started to feel a creeping sense of unease in my chest.

Working in a crime scene that was soaked in blood was really getting to me, just as I expected.

If I'd known it would turn out like this, I wouldn't have been so nice. I should've asked for more money.

After finally getting the candle to light, I swung it three times and burned the marriage contract until nothing was left but ashes.

No matter how uneasy I felt, I couldn't skip a single step of the ritual.

After all, the dead were the last ones I wanted to mess with.

All I needed to do now was wrap things up quickly and give this room a good cleaning.

Thinking that, I carefully started from the foot of the bed and lifted Crispin's blanket, moving upward in order.

He had long, well-built legs and firm skin.

I guessed being the richest guy's son really set him apart.

Even after being dead for so long, his skin still put us regular folks to shame.

I whispered, "Honey, I'm here to serve you.

"Come on, after all this effort, you'd better help me give the Holt family an heir."

As I spoke, I followed our family's secret technique, starting from his ankle and slowly massaging upward.

Money would really make things run more smoothly in rich families.

Even after all this time, Crispin's skin still had that warmth and bounce to it.

It made my job way easier.

But when my hands reached his chest, I suddenly froze.

Right in the center of his chest was a hauntingly familiar cinnabar mark.

My heart skipped a beat.

I pulled back the blanket from Crispin's head.

The moment I saw his face, my breath caught in my throat.

It was my first boyfriend, the one I broke up with ten years ago.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

At first, I figured Fletcher was just messing with me, handing me a fake birthday to see if I'd catch on.

But I never saw this coming.

It really was him.

I never in a million years would've imagined this.

Back then, he was just a security guard who used to squeeze into a cramped rental with me, eating macaroni. But he turned out to be the Holt family's heir.

Tears streamed down my face, one after another.

I socked the guy lying there, eyes shut tight, not even flinching.

I choked out, "You bastard, you played poor and lied to me for years.

"If I'd known you were rolling in cash, I wouldn't have had to suffer through all that hell!"

The candle at the doorway flickered.

It was almost like a warning not to mess with the dead.

I snatched my hand back.

I muttered, "Forget it, it's all in the past.

"I guess this was meant to be. Ten years later, after everything, I am the one with you at the end of your journey."

I wiped away my tears and kept massaging.

My slender, nimble fingers pressed along Crispin's chest, neck, and shoulders, working each spot in turn.

With each touch, I stimulated different parts of his body.

When my hands reached his arm, I stopped again for a moment.

The wound on Crispin's wrist looked downright brutal, raw, jagged, and terrifying.

It was clear he must've been absolutely determined to go through with it.

I couldn't help but wonder what kind of girl could linger in Crispin's heart for so many years.

He was willing to risk everything, even his own life, for her.

Thinking back to how Crispin kept dodging me when we broke up, I couldn't help but feel a bitter sting in my chest.

Before I knew it, my hands pressed down harder than I meant to.

Once I finished the massage, I propped Crispin up and climbed right onto his lap.

No matter how much I tried, he didn't react, not even a twitch.

After decades on the job, this was the first time I'd ever come up empty.

Something was really not right here.

I put all my old baggage aside and gave Crispin's body a careful once-over.

As I was examining Crispin's wound, I heard a knock at the door from outside.

Fletcher asked, "Miss Morton, the candle's about to go out. Have you finished the ritual?"

I was just about to answer when I suddenly froze, like I'd been hit by a bolt of electricity.

In my line of work, our identities were strictly confidential.

I wondered how the Holt family learned my name.

My heart was thundering in my chest.

I pressed my hand against my chest, telling myself to stay calm.

As everything around me fell silent, a strange feeling crept in.

I suddenly caught a breath, one that definitely wasn't mine. It was soft, but impossible to ignore.