Draven's outfits were tattered and torn by the aftermath of the whip, and from the wounds it had created, blood was oozing out. His face had a little bit of a cut, which she could also tell was inflicted by the whip.
Avelina bit into her lower lip, and her hands, which were clutching onto her laps, tightened.
Was there something deep she needed to know about this family? Why do they all seem to hate Draven? Surely it's not because he killed his wife and son—that is if it's true.
They all seemed very irritated by him, and if possible, they would be willing to kill him—so it looked.
From the aggressive emotion in the old master's eyes alone, she could tell the level of hatred he bore for Draven.
Why? was her question.
Did Draven commit something unforgivable compared to killing his wife and son? A crime, an abomination? What could it be?
She subconsciously stood up from the chair and glanced at Ryan, who was smirking.
