“The ghosts of my past didn’t knock. They broke the lock wide open—and suddenly, Damon wasn’t the only man holding chains around me.
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Katrina’s POV
The air in Damon’s penthouse had shifted since the gala.
Damon had been colder, sharper, since the night he claimed me in front of Cassian. The man who once cloaked his cruelty in velvet now seemed stripped to steel and knives.
I sat at the dining table, untouched plate in front of me, pretending to have an appetite while Damon read something on his phone. The glow of the screen painted his features in shades of shadow. His jaw worked once. Then again. His thumb stopped mid-scroll.
A muscle ticked in his temple.
I knew that look—it was the same one he wore before a storm broke.
The phone buzzed again. He answered without a greeting. Hi
