She stood frozen for a few seconds before steadying herself on themp and inching closer to the photo wall.

It was filled with pictures-shots of women''s legs, all different. At first, they looked like candid snaps, but then came the ones of severed limbs. Eventually, there were photos showing Yves himself cutting off women''s legs. Sylvia had braced herself for something bad, but the shock still sent a cold sweat coursing down her spine.fn666e For more chapters visit f?i?n?d?n?o?v?e?l?/fn666e

Her hands trembled so much themp''s beam shook, casting creepy, flickering shadows over the grisly images.

But she couldn''t back down now. Everything she''d done so far would be for nothing.

Swallowing hard, Sylvia leaned in, searching the photos for any useful clue.

As she moved themp, the light slipped to another wall. This time, the photos all featured the same person.

Reese.

From Yves and Reese''s very first meeting, right up to now, Yves had documented every moment of Reese''s life. Every photo was dated andbeled.

Even though Sylvia had never followed Reese''s treatment abroad, she could see from these pictures how Reese had climbed out of her own darkness, step by step. You could almost feel the pain and determination in every candid smile or weary frown.

Yves, she had to admit, was obsessed with Reese. He''d arranged these photos like an art gallery, like some twisted love letter.

Sylvia stared, then suddenly paused, swinging themp back to Reese''s photos.

In several shots, Reese wasn''t wearing her prosthetic. The scar where her leg ended was clear as day.

Her wounds had healed, but the pattern of scars on her leg-Sylvia realized, with a jolt, she''d seen them before.

Frowning, she turned to the other photos of women''s legs.

After Yves met Reese, the scars on the other women''s legs looked almost identical to Reese''s. The difference was, Reese''s injury was an ident. The others-Yves had done it himself.

Lining up two photos side by side, Sylvia''s mind shed back to a memory.

"Ms. Lloyd, your mother''s leg... the wound is too jagged to stitch up. We''ll have to use something else to secure it."

"...Okay."

She''d nodded numbly at the funeral home, only half-hearing the staff''s conversation.

Now, suddenly, every word came back to her.

"Weird, what even caused this wound? It''s all rough and uneven, but somehow it''s almost... tidy."

"Probably scraps of metal from the crash. Who knows? Let''s just get it over with." "Poor woman. She''s covered in injuries, and lost a leg too."

Covered in injuries.

Injuries...

Sylvia looked up at the photo wall and found pictures of Yves''s four previous wives.

Unlike the other women, their bodies were covered in wounds-many of which matched the kind Naomi had. And they were eerily simr.

So Naomi hadn''t died in a car ident. She''d... died at Yves''s hands.

Yves''s obsession with Reese-Reese had no clue. But from what he''d said earlier, it was clear Kay had noticed and even encouraged Yves to y. the knight in shining armor for Reese.  s

That exined Yves''s deference whenever Kay''s name came up.

Piecing it all together, the truth about what had really happened back then wasn''t hard to guess.

But Sylvia could hardly process it.

She stared at the photo wall, face

pale

themplight flickering

r features but unable to

tough the darkness inside her.  s

So Rupert had always known how Naomi really died.

Naomi had suffered inhuman torment, and Rupert had dismissed it as just a "car ident." He''d

watched her struggle with

ut and

grief, watched her bury family after family member.  s

All the while, he kept his partnership with Kay—and kept Reese safe.

If Sylvia hadn''t recognized Yves the very first time she saw him, she might have

ended up just another photo on his wall.