Phoebe's footsteps halted as Elliott spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Scarlett Rothschild, have you made up your mind? Who exactly do you want me to kill?"
Scarlett Rothschild opened her mouth to interject, but Elliott continued, his tone deliberate. "There's more. First—is there someone here named Charlotte?"
Charlotte stepped forward, her chin raised. "What do you want with me?"
Elliott's gaze flickered toward her. "Scarlett Rothschild, I won't kill this one. Her daughter, Isabella Rockefeller, once saved my life." He paused, then added, "And I won't kill Phoebe either. I get along well with her son, Henry Rockefeller—though his father, William Rockefeller, is another matter."
A harsh laugh erupted from William. "You've got some nerve, boy. Who says you could even take me down?"
Scarlett Rothschild, caught in a dilemma, hesitated before murmuring, "Then… kill Daisy."
The suggestion sent a ripple of shock through the room. But Elliott only smirked, seeing right through her. "Scarlett Rothschild, you still can't bear to lose William. Fine. Consider our master-servant bond severed."
His words struck Scarlett like a physical blow. The obedient Elliott she had known was gone. Had she ever truly held power over men?
Elliott turned to Charlotte, his voice sharp. "Your daughter is waiting for you by the lake. Is clinging to a man worth abandoning your duty as a mother? You're no good woman—did you bear that child just to chain William Rockefeller? If so, look around. He hasn't changed for any of you."
The women, long lost in their own miseries, felt the weight of his words. Elliott exhaled. "All of you, leave Hilton Villa. Don't make me force you out. This is the last favor I'll do for Scarlett Rothschild."
Scarlett's eyes narrowed. "Elliott… when did you remove your mask?"
He met her gaze. "What matters is that it's off—not when."
Scarlett's lips thinned. "Fine. Go. We don't need you here anymore."
Elliott didn't argue. Instead, he glanced at Phoebe. "What about this hand? Do you still want it?"
Phoebe's fingers curled—the same hand that had touched her earlier. "Your life will do!" With that, she lunged after him, chasing him out of the villa.
Elliott had planned this. The others were manageable—but Phoebe's will was iron. Only by drawing her out could he ensure no bloodshed inside.
What he didn't know was that this very act would bind their fates together, setting the stage for a story neither could have foreseen.