"He's a devil, Janet. There's nothing Derrick wouldn't do."
Manfred's voice was cold, almost reverent in its hatred.
He didn't just know Derrick—he had studied him.
Back in America, that name was burned into his memory like a scar.
He made it his mission.
So that one day… August could step over Derrick's bones, smiling, while Derrick wept in ruin.
Janet's fingers clenched. Her breath caught in her throat.
"So… you and August…" Her voice trembled, but her gaze was clear. "You approached me with a purpose. Didn't you?"
She wasn't stupid. Not anymore.
She remembered the way August had hinted at the truth in the elevator—that night she married Philip, it had been Charles beside her in bed. August had known. He'd known everything.
Every time she was around them, she could feel it—that hostility behind their eyes. That unspoken tension between the brothers.
And Charles… he'd warned her over and over again to stay away from August.
