ROSETTE’S POV
He scrambled to his feet, still crying, still visibly hard in his trousers. The sight should have made me feel something. Guilt, maybe. Satisfaction. Pity.
I felt nothing but cold emptiness.
“Go.”
He went.
The door closed behind him, and I let out a slow breath.
My hands were trembling slightly. I pressed them flat against the desk to steady them.
That had been cruel. Unnecessarily so. I’d dangled hope in front of him just to snatch it away, made him debase himself for my amusement, then crushed him completely.
I should feel guilty.
I didn’t.
A strange sensation prickled across my skin. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I’d been feeling it for days now—this odd awareness, eyes on me that I couldn’t locate.
I turned toward the window, scanning the skyl
