Right now, Cassius was reclining back on one of the cushioned lounge chairs in the garden behind the mansion.
The late-afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of ancient jasmine vines overhead, dappling his face in soft gold.
A faint breeze carried the scent of blooming nightshade and warm earth.
It was peaceful. Almost idyllic.
He looked almost peaceful—arms folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded as he stared up at the cloudless sky.
But the calm was only surface-deep.
Inside, his thoughts were still churning—wild, confused, fragmented.
Of course, he was no longer in that frozen, blank state from the bathroom, where shock had shut down everything except basic survival instincts.
That numbness had faded. Now he could think again.
And the biggest question—the one that kept circling back like a vulture was simple and incomprehensible at the same time.
Why?
Why had Aqua done that?
