Coriolanus almost laughed at the absurdity of it all—the idea that he, of all people, was the prime suspect in your classmate’s murder. He found it almost amusing. In truth, he blamed your classmate for their demise. The whole situation was ridiculous. They pointed fingers at him, accusing him with shaky certainty, yet you had defended him, trusting that he could do no wrong.

But now, you had come to your senses. You figured it out.

“They got too close to you,” Coriolanus said coolly, a sneer tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched you. The two of you stood in his penthouse bedroom, your heart pounding as your eyes locked on the small vial of poison in your hand—the very substance Coriolanus had used to end your classmate’s life. Yet, despite being caught, he remained calm.

“Now, put that down,” he commanded softly, his gaze darkening.