CHAPTER 182: A MAN WITHOUT HEART

Early that morning, a messenger from the Marquess’ residence arrived at the inn in a frantic rush.

He looked completely pale, almost like he’d seen a ghost, and began shouting from the gate, calling for Raven over and over again.

"Milady! Milady! Please... you need to come home now!" he cried, almost out of breath. "Something’s wrong with Lord Thalen! He ... he ... oh god, please! You have to see him right now!"

Primrose was standing on the balcony, her head resting tiredly in her palm.

She glanced to the front gate, watching as Raven immediately rushed out of the inn.

[Finally,] Raven thought to herself, [that bastard is dead.]

[I must not smile. I have to cry loudly when I see his body.]

Primrose was sure Raven was doing everything she could not to grin right then and there.

Behind her, Salem followed quietly, staying close as they walked toward the gate.

He looked like he wanted to go with her all the way to the Marquess’ mansion, but his presence would raise too many questions.

It wouldn’t be surprising if people started whispering that the Marchioness had already found a replacement before her husband was even buried.

And even though Salem had once claimed he didn’t like women, that didn’t mean everyone believed him.

"What kind of method did he use to kill himself?" Primrose asked, her voice calm as she looked over her shoulder at Edmund, who had been sitting quietly behind her.

He looked almost too composed, far too calm for someone who had just driven another man to take his own life.

"I gave him a vial of poison," Edmund said casually, as if it were nothing more than a cup of tea.

Primrose immediately turned to face him. "What?" she blinked. "But ... I still have the poison bottle."

Edmund set his teacup down gently before replying, "No, my wife. I used a different poison." Then he added simply, "It’s stronger than the one you have."

Honestly, it made sense.

Salem’s poison would’ve made it look like the Marquess died of a heart attack, not suicide.

"Then what happens to him after drinking your poison?" Primrose asked.

Edmund shrugged slightly. "He felt sick."

He didn’t explain what kind of sickness. Maybe he was trying to spare her from hearing something too awful.

But what he didn’t realize was that Primrose could still hear his thoughts.

[Within seconds, his tongue and throat will start to burn.]

[The pain will spread to his stomach. His skin will blister all over, and he’ll suffer for half an hour before his body explodes into pieces.]

He—what?! Explodes?!

What kind of poison makes someone explode?!

Where on earth did Edmund get something like that?

She stared at him, stunned, before finally asking, "Where did you get that poison? Did you buy it?"

If he bought it, that would leave a dangerous trail, especially if the court ever started digging.

"No," Edmund replied, shaking his head calmly. "Poisons like that aren’t sold anywhere. I learned how to make it from someone I used to know, so I made it myself."

Primrose blinked slowly, not expecting that Edmund was capable of creating something that deadly. "A-Alright, but ... how did you even convince the Marquess to drink a poison that makes him ... feel sick?"

Primrose didn’t mention the details since Edmund hadn’t described the effects of the poison out loud.

"I didn’t," Edmund replied simply. "I told him the poison would take his life in under a minute. No more than that."

Primrose let out a soft chuckle. "So ... you lied to him?"

"That part doesn’t matter," Edmund replied calmly. "Even if he realized it later, it would’ve already been too late."

By the time the truth hit him, the poison would’ve spread through his entire body, burning him from the inside out like meat dropped into boiling oil.

There wouldn’t be time to scream or resist. All he could do was accept his fate.

Still, something didn’t sit right with Primrose.

What exactly had Edmund said or done to push the Marquess to such a decision?

"Edmund," she called his name gently. "I’m wondering ... what kind of threat did you give him? Did you say you’d hurt someone he cared about if he didn’t do what you asked?"

It sounded cruel, maybe even wrong.

But compared to all the terrible things the Marquess had done, that would’ve been the least of what he deserved.

"Someone he cared about?" Edmund let out a quiet scoff, as if mocking the very idea. "My wife, a man who is willing to sell his own daughter to an old pervert man doesn’t have anyone he truly cares about."

Primrose sighed quietly. She had suspected the same thing.

The Marquess looked like he adored his sons, but behind closed doors, there were rumors.

People whispered that he pushed them too hard, that he treated them like tools, not children.

Never letting them rest. Never letting them be boys.

In the end, someone as rotten as him probably never knew how to love in the first place.

"Then what did you do?" Primrose asked, genuinely curious now.

"I gave him two choices," Edmund said, his voice turning cold, so cold that it sent a chill down her spine.

"First choice: I’d let him live. He would be exiled, banished from Noctvaris, but he’d stay alive.

However, I would strip him of every last thing he owned. Every coin. Every property. Everything he ever claimed as his."

He paused for a moment, then added, "I already had all the proof—documents of his embezzlement, records of the awful things he did. It wouldn’t be hard to make sure he never touched a single piece of it again."

Primrose straightened her back slightly as she listened, but said nothing.

She simply waited for her husband to continue.

"The second choice ..." Edmund paused briefly before finishing, "was the poison. A quick death, in just a few seconds. A way to escape a life of poverty."

"What a pity," Primrose murmured as she leaned back against the railing. "In the end, he chose death ... because his life had no meaning without his wealth."