The final dinner with Marcus Reed felt like the last act of a play none of them had written the ending for.
Sophia moved through the evening in a state of heightened awareness, every nerve ending alive. The black dress Victor had chosen clung to her body like a second skin — elegant from a distance, but short enough that bending over revealed the curve of her ass and the absence of anything underneath. A thin choker hid her collar. Makeup covered most of the marks, but she could still feel them, a secret map of hands and mouths written across her skin.
Marcus arrived with two important clients — sharp-suited men who talked markets and acquisitions like they were discussing the weather. They greeted Victor like old allies, shook Damien’s hand with respect, and when their eyes landed on So
