Ben Clinton dared not take another step closer as he saw the fruit knife in Amelia Cobb's hand.
The servants, originally in the living room, were all frightened and speechless at the sight before them.
Manipulate her?
Fine, fine, fine, manipulate her.
Amelia staggered, walking tentatively up the stairs. Ben followed behind her, wanting to lend a hand but constantly retracting it.
Her life was not as important as Christopher Robinson's business interests. As she climbed to the top floor, full of energy and spirit, his support for her faded, and he still smiled and said he loved her.
Is this love? If this is so-called love, Christopher Robinson is even worse than Henry Wood.
If this is love, how should those who die for love deal with themselves?
Amelia pushed open the door to Christopher's study and saw a massive wedding photo on the floor.
Something flashed through her mind.
She thought back to their wedding.
