- 27.
So much for his “beloved.” When he killed me, his face had turned ashen. Now, he held that gun without even blinking. My hands clenched.
“Did that make you feel better?” I asked, looking away.
“Mila, I know I was wrong. I’ve regretted it every day,” he said, voice thick with emotion,
“Stop talking!” I snapped. I didn’t want to hear another word from him. His eyes darkened, and then he laughed,
“Waiting for three a m., aren’t you?” Three a.m.–the time the news broke of Mr. Holt’s sudden passing in the previous timeline.
