Burn Me Once Burn With Me (Ruby Grayson) novel Chapter 439

Every move he made was tinged with an easy arrogance, the sort you’d expect from a spoiled trust fund kid with nothing better to do.

His demeanor seemed to put the three of them at ease; their guarded expressions softened just a bit.

“Mr. Cunningham, Mr. Grayson and Miss Violet have always had a perfectly respectable relationship,” the nurse chimed in, a little too eagerly.

Sylas, who had been lounging with his eyes half-closed, suddenly snapped them open. There was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he drawled, “And how would you know that?”

Meeting his gaze—his features almost too striking, even more beautiful than most women—the nurse’s heart skipped a beat. She quickly lowered her head, her voice muffled, “Back then, I was the one who personally brought Miss Violet’s body to the mortuary.”

At her words, Sylas simply smiled without replying, but a chill flickered in his eyes.

“And you—do you think she was pretty?” he asked, still smiling.

The nurse, listening to his string of seemingly pointless questions, dismissed him as just another idle rich boy and let her guard down completely. “Miss Violet was very pretty,” she answered without thinking.

“Really? That’s interesting, because according to Hanley’s video records, you—the mortuary attendant—never actually lifted the sheet over her face.”

Sylas propped his chin on one hand, his eyes narrowed and his tone playful as he watched her.

Her heart lurched. She looked up in a panic, only to meet a gaze that seemed to see straight through her.

Her pulse hammered. She wanted to explain, but the words tangled up and stuck in her throat. “I…”

Sylas’s playful smile vanished. His face hardened, all trace of frivolity gone, replaced by an air of cold, unapproachable authority. “Tell me—was the body you brought in that day really Miss Violet’s?”

The question dropped like a stone in a pond—direct, impossible to dodge.

Both the nurse and the doctor blanched. Their mouths opened, but no words came. They looked desperately to the crematorium worker for help.

He caught on instantly and jumped in, “Mr. Cunningham, surely there couldn’t have been another body, could there? It’s been so long; it’s understandable if some details are a little fuzzy.”

He flashed a sycophantic smile at Sylas, hoping to smooth things over.

But Sylas’s face had gone icy, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “Domingo. From Stormhaven. You started working in Quinborough twenty years ago, at the crematorium near NeoVista Medical Center. Ten years back, with your wife expecting a late-in-life baby, you moved back to Stormhaven.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Am I right?”

Domingo’s fingers clenched involuntarily, his heart thudding in his chest.

Sylas tapped the coffee table. “Over a decade ago—right around the year Violet died. According to my sources, you left Stormhaven immediately after handling her case.”

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