Larissa's Game of Thrones (Larissa) novel Chapter 742

Lying on the floor, Paxton used the motion of clutching his wound to hide the twisted smirk that touched his lips.

Why wasn't this idiot following the script?

But… fine. Once Vivica was dead, it would only make him look even more innocent.

A cold sneer formed in his mind, but his face immediately contorted into an expression of frantic despair. He struggled to push himself up, screaming at the hitman’s back, “No! Don’t kill my wife! If you want someone, come after me! Come after me!”

His voice was agonizingly shrill, as if filled with the deepest, most desperate love.

Vivica stood with her back pressed against the cold door, watching the approaching hitman and his blood-drenched knife. The initial wave of terror receded, replaced by a strange, icy calm—the kind born of desperation.

She stopped her futile pounding on the door. Her body ceased to tremble.

Her gaze locked onto the hitman, her voice hoarse from screaming but unnervingly clear. “Who… who are you? Why are you here to kill me?”

The hitman stopped two paces away from her. He tilted his head, and a soft, contemptuous chuckle seemed to escape from behind his mask. He spoke in a tone laced with cruel amusement, “Technically, my only target is you. As for why…”

He paused, his gaze pointedly flicking to the bleeding man on the floor. “It was your dear husband who paid a handsome price for your life.”

Hiding outside the window, clinging to the building's exterior with climbing gear and waiting for the right moment to intervene, Nightveil froze.

What the hell? Wasn't Paxton the one who hired him? Why was this hitman exposing his own client?

Vivica felt as if she’d been struck by lightning. She whipped her head around to look at Paxton, her pupils dilating in sheer, unadulterated shock. “Paxton, was it really you…?”

“Vivica! Don’t listen to his lies!” Paxton immediately shot back, struggling to get up before collapsing back in pain. “He… he’s trying to frame me! He’s trying to drive a wedge between us! If I wanted you dead, why would I… why would I let myself get hurt like this?!”

He pointed a trembling finger at his bleeding shoulder, his face a mask of righteous fury and betrayal.

Inside, the hitman raised his bloody knife. In her sleeve, Vivica tensed, ready to strike.

And in that exact moment—

CRASH!

A deafening explosion of sound.

Simultaneously, a figure shattered the living room window, landing gracefully on the other side!

Glass sprayed across the room.

Vivica’s head snapped toward the sound. A woman now stood framed by the broken window, her eyes like shards of ice, radiating a terrifying chill. In her hand, she held a knife that glinted with the promise of death.