The morning tasted like sin.
Cara woke up sore, breathless, and bare beneath Damon’s sheets. His scent clung to her skin like a second betrayal. But it wasn’t the s*x that haunted her—it was the way he held her afterward, like a man afraid of the morning.
Damon was already gone when she reached for him.
Typical.
She wrapped the sheet around her body and stepped into the living room. His jacket was draped over the chair, but the silence was too loud. Something had shifted. The air was heavy with warning.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Don’t trust what he tells you next. He’s already sold you out once. He’ll do it again.
—V
Vincent.
Her blood ran cold.
She deleted the message, but the damage was done. It wasn’t just the warning—it was that sick part of her that believed it. Dam
