The air inside the private dining room was thick with the scent of roasted meat, fresh espresso, and the lingering, tense silence that had stretched between us all morning.
I sat across from Julian at the long black marble table, perfectly composed. I wore a tailored, high-necked cream dress that completely hid the bandages on my left shoulder. My posture was graceful, my face a flawless mask of soft submission. I picked up a strawberry, dipping it into a small bowl of dark chocolate before offering Julian a slow, sweet, completely deceptive smile.
"You're very quiet this morning, darling," I murmured, my voice smooth as silk.
In reality, every single drop of blood in my veins was screaming for his destruction. The memory of his forged signature on the execution order for my family was
