Katrina’s POV
The note haunted me.
I carried it like contraband, tucked into the lining of my robe, pressed against my skin so close it felt like it burned me. Each time I moved through the penthouse, I felt it there, a silent accusation. Every step. Every breath.
Damon was everywhere. His presence filled every corner of the glass tower, his shadow longer than the walls themselves. He watched me over the rim of his coffee cup, over the gleam of his laptop screen, over the line of his whiskey glass. Even when he wasn’t looking, I felt him.
And every time his hand touched me—on my hip, at the small of my back, under my chin—I shivered. Not just from his heat. From the secret pressed between us.
The note whispered louder than his chains.
One chance. One place. One truth.
One betrayal.
