'As expected, he was furious.'
Hendrix thought, a quiet, satisfied smirk playing on his lips as his boots echoed down the grand marble hallway of the Diamond Palace. His steps were slow, deliberate, almost taunting in their rhythm.
He had waited months—no, endured months—for this day.
Months of careful planning.
Months of silence.
And now that it had finally arrived, Heinz's reaction had been exactly what Hendrix hoped for.
Volatile.
Furious.
"I fully expected him to try and kill me though," he muttered under his breath, letting out a dramatic sigh. His fingers absentmindedly brushed his coat sleeve, his thoughts drifting to the way Florian's delicate hand had clutched Heinz's arm—shaky, desperate, but undeniably deliberate.
He had seen through it instantly.
Florian had pretended to feel ill just to stop Heinz from attacking him.
And somehow, it worked.
That alone made Hendrix pause and wonder...
What was Heinz's game?
