Olivia Westview
James's mouth opened, but no words came out.
His face turned pale, the color draining from his cheeks as his body stiffened. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breaths shallow and uneven, his eyes wide with panic.
I watched him carefully, every detail seared into my mind. James Sinclair—the man who always had an answer for everything and who never lost his composure—stood speechless before me. His mask of control shattered, leaving behind a raw vulnerability I had never seen before.
In his eyes, I saw fear. Not just fear of losing his power, his authority, or his control, but fear of losing me. For once, he was the one who was powerless. For once, I held the control.
But the victory was hollow, the triumph tainted by pain. It felt like ashes in my mouth, bitter and emp
