Betrayed by the Father Reborn in His Rival's Arms novel Chapter 251

Quentin picked up the handgun and smoothly racked the slide.

He leveled the barrel straight at Grant's trembling forehead. "I spare no one who hurts her."

Bang!

The gunshot echoed violently into the night.

The bullet punched clean through Grant's skull.

A single drop of blood sprayed upward, landing just beside Quentin's razor-sharp jawline, a stark contrast to his lethally calm expression.

Grant's lifeless body crumpled to the deck.

His eyes remained wide open, completely devoid of life.

A dark pool of crimson quickly expanded from the massive exit wound at the back of his head.

Quentin tossed the gun back onto the silver tray.

He casually swiped the stray drop of blood from his jaw with a black-gloved finger.

Then, he peeled off the leather gloves and threw them over the weapon.

He turned his attention entirely to Madeline. "The deck is freezing. Let's go back inside, alright?"

Snapping out of her daze, Madeline simply nodded.

Behind them, Grant's corpse was unceremoniously dumped into the black abyss.

Quentin guided Madeline back into the warm, opulent master suite.

Even completely swaddled in his thick coat, she was still shivering uncontrollably.

Or rather, trembling from the sheer terror of what she had just witnessed.

Throughout her entire life,

she had never once been exposed to firearms or cold-blooded murder.

This was a horrifying first.

Yet, somehow, the label "psycho" didn't seem to fit Quentin at all.

Throughout the brutal execution, he had remained chillingly calm and composed.

As if he had done this a thousand times before.

And that level of normalcy was exactly what made him so incredibly dangerous.

Settling into the center of the massive bed, Madeline realized Quentin was vastly different from the man she thought she knew.

The ruthless predator who had executed her tormentors without batting an eye had suddenly become far more mysterious and unfathomable.

More accurately, it settled hungrily on her lips.

It was as if her mouth held some intoxicating spell that he couldn't resist.

He couldn't wipe the memory of how perfectly soft and sweet she tasted.

The sheer intensity of his craving actually infuriated him.

He couldn't stop himself from leaning closer, desperate to claim those lips once more.

But he ruthlessly forced himself to hold back. He was terrified of falling deeper, of becoming hopelessly addicted to a woman who didn't even love him back.

Madeline knew exactly what he was staring at.

Because her clothes had been ruined by the acid, she had changed into a luxurious silk nightgown, its plunging neckline leaving very little to the imagination.

Quentin forced his eyes away from her mouth.

His dark gaze dropped to the exposed expanse of her chest.

The last time they were together, he had left a vicious, territorial mark right there while she was unaware.

"When I kissed you last time... did you think I was Lucius?"

Madeline flinched in utter shock. Why on earth was he bringing up Lucius right now?