Katrina’s Pov
The penthouse was quiet after the gala, though the air still trembled with the echoes of scandal. Damon had dragged me from Cassian’s gaze like a trophy, kissed me like a claim, restrained me with velvet and promises that almost felt like protection. My lips still ached from the pressure; my wrist still carried the phantom brush of fabric.
But now the silence was something else—different, heavier. It wasn’t the calculated quiet Damon usually cultivated around himself. It was…human.
I sat curled on the velvet armchair in my room, staring at the city lights beyond the glass. My wrists still remembered the bite of his hand on my arm from the car ride earlier, the echo of his kiss seared like flame on my lips. I told myself it was just another battle lost, another way he bent
