What no one realized was that, behind the carefully controlled façade, behind the cameras, behind the headlines—
Vincent was killing people.
Not because he was like Anastasia, who killed out of boredom.
Not because he was like his father, a man so steeped in cruelty that bloodshed was merely a part of life.
No.
Vincent was killing because he was angry.
Because she had done nothing.
Because it had been a month—a full month—and Anastasia hadn't reacted to his absence.
Not a single call.
Not a single glance.
Not even the slightest flicker of irritation or curiosity.
Had she not noticed?
Had she never cared?
Was he really so insignificant to her?
The thought burned in his mind, an unbearable, festering wound that refused to heal. And so, he did the only thing he could to silence it.
He let the monster inside him breathe.