Page 19 of The Colour of Revenge

His reply is immediate.

Kai:You owe me for this.

I grin, as I slide into the leather seats.

Kai’s waiting for me when I arrive at the address she gave me, a scowl on his face and his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“She better be worth it, man,” he mutters as we make our way to the correct hotel room.

"Princess," I call out, knocking gently, my voice cutting through the heavy stillness of the place.

She emerges from behind the door, her head poking out before she opens it fully to let us in.

I forget how to breathe.

She's a vision of chaos. Her pink hair is streaked with crimson, and blood spatters across her cheeks and nose like a constellation of red freckles.

Her pink dress—a different one this time—is soaked in red, ruined beyond salvation. Yet somehow, she wears it like a masterpiece, like she was meant to be drenched in it.

Her eyes are wild, feral—untamed in a way that makes my chest tighten.

Behind her, the scene is pure carnage. A man slumps forward, tied to a chair, his body lifeless and dripping. Blood coats the floor, the walls—hell, even the ceiling bears the marks of her work.

It's a mess, sure.

But it's also beautiful.

The justice she's delivered here is raw, visceral—art in its purest, bloodstained form.

"Bloody hell," Kai mutters behind me, shattering the moment.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" I murmur, my lips twitching into a grin as my eyes rake over the scene.

Her gaze locks onto mine, and for the briefest moment, there's hesitation—uncertainty flickering behind the madness. She's waiting for my reaction.

"I thought you were coming alone," she says, her jaw locked tight.

"Relax, Princess." I take a slow step toward her. "Kai's a professional. Doesn't talk, doesn't judge. Just cleans."

Kai exhales sharply, eyeing the blood-soaked room with a grimace. "And this is going to take a lot of cleaning."

I ignore him, my attention fixed on her. "You did this all yourself?"

Her chin lifts, defiance blazing in her eyes. "He deserved it."

A chuckle rumbles in my throat. "Oh, no doubt. But you have a flair for the dramatic, Princess." My gaze flicks to the ceiling. "It's… impressive."

For a second, she almost smiles. Almost.

Then it's gone, buried beneath whatever storm is brewing inside her.

"Are you going to help or just stand there admiring my work?"

I smirk, stepping closer. "Both."

Then I crack my knuckles, glancing around the blood-streaked walls.

"Now," I say, rolling up my sleeves, "let's see what we can salvage here."