NovelEnglishHarry's eyes fluttered open.
The first thing he saw was the darkness-he was in skind of warehouse, dim and shadowy, the air thick and
stale.
He rubbed his aching head, voice low and hoarse as he muttered to himself, "Where am 1? How did | end up
here?"
The last few days had been a blur-drinking himself numb, stumbling from one hangover to the next, every
waking moment haunted by pain. Stella's betrayal had gutted him, left him raw and seething. The humiliation
she'd rained down on him replayed over and over in his mind, each tstoking his anger and regret until he
thought he'd choke on it.
He couldn't get over it. The wound ran too deep.
Desperate, Harry had even started contacting hitmen, hoping that if Stella were gone, maybe just maybe-his
agony would go with her.
Yesterday, finally, someone had taken the job. The plan was simple: they'd meet him in Novaris and work out the
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtrest.
He'd celebrated by drinking himself senseless again, clinging to the idea that once Stella was dead, everything
would go back to the way it was.
Now, he snapped upright, a jolt of hope running through him. "You're the guys | hired, right?" he called out.
A tall, lean figure slowly turned to face him. Harry blinked—he was startled to see that the man was young,
strikingly handsome, barely in his twenties and nothing like the cold-blooded killers he'd imagined. With his
boyish good looks, he looked more like someone you'd meet at a college party than a professional assassin.
Harry couldn't help but think, Hitmen these days sure don't look the part. The young man met his gaze. "Mr.
Harry, what exactly do you want us to do?" There was a cold glint in Harry's eyes, something poisonous and
serpentine. "I want you to ruin that woman," he hissed. "Make her suffer-hurt her, disfigure her, break her hands.
And when you're done, make sure she never leaves that place alive. | don't care what it costs. Nyour price."
The young man smiled, just a hint of amusement on his lips. "Mr. Harry, you certainly don't hold back."
Harry barely heard him; his mind was already racing with images of revenge. For days, he'd obsessed over a
thousand gruesways to make Stella pay.
He pressed on, his voice trembling with excitement. "After she's dead, | want you to take
photos-humiliating ones. Post them online. I'll handle the rest."
He wanted Stella destroyed, her legacy tainted forever. He wanted the world to forget her talent with the violin
and remember only the disgrace, the shame. Let her
infamous, let her nbeca curse.
Just imagining it made his blood race.
He looked at the young man. "If you have any other ways to make her suffer, go
ahead. The worse, the better."
The young man looked down at him
thoughtfully. "You know, | used to
think I'd
seen cruelty," he mused.
"But people like you... you put the rest of us to shame."
Harry frowned, not sure what the man meant, but waved it off. "If you're out of ideas, just do what | said."
The young man nodded and motioned to a few others lurking in the shadows.
"Alright then," he said. "We'll do exactly as Mr. Harry requested. Get started."
Harry was surprised by their efficiency. They hadn't even talked money yet-they were just getting right down to
business.
He was starting to feel pleased with himself, right up until the moment the men walked over to him and hauled
him to his feet.
He froze. "Hey-what are you doing?"
The young man flashed an innocent smile. "Just following your instructions, Mr. Harry."
Confused, Harry tried to protest. "I told you to do this to Stella! Why are you coming after me?"
The young man shrugged, feigning puzzlement. "But | never said I'd go after Stella, did 1?"
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