LILA'S POV
My gaze stays locked on the floor as men in dark suits stride through the door, my heart thudding heavily.
My face burns with humiliation. Every set of eyes skims over me, dissecting, assessing like I'm nothing but an object. A plaything for their entertainment. A pet trained to obey. A toy.
The men all give slight bows as they take their seats, their conversations clipped and businesslike, but my attention isn't on them. It's on him.
Rafael.
Seated like a f*****g king at the head of the table, with his usual unreadable expression. His posture relaxed. His fingers lazily rotating the sleek black remote between them.
The remote.
Shit.
A slow, dreadful realization seeps into my bones. My thighs clench on instinct, but it doesn't matter. Nothing I do matters-because
