"Oh? Who taught you?"
He raised an eyebrow, his long fingers casually pressing the cigarette butt into the ashtray by the bedside, as if the question was entirely nonchalant.
Cynthia pursed her lips and turned her face away, not responding. She wasn't sure if he was asking on purpose or if it was just a casual question. Horseback riding was a sport reserved for the wealthy, something only someone like Vincent, with his aristocratic background, could afford to indulge in. So, of course, it was Vincent who had taught her.
Albert Wilson tossed the blanket aside and rose from the bed. His muscular frame, bathed in the soft light of the morning sun, moved towards her like a sleek, alert predator. He approached her so quickly that it seemed he consumed the warmth of the sunlight around her.
