Eating is supposed to be simple. At least, it should be. But when a gun is pointed at you, and across the table sits a man colder than the marble floor under your feet... every bite becomes a war.
Andromeda’s hand trembled as she reached for the bread. Her fingers barely wrapped around it, as if she was afraid of her own movement. The butter slowly melted on the warm surface, and even so, its scent hit her nose. Her stomach growled. Reflexively. Not out of a craving for fullness, but from the pain of hunger.
Lucian didn’t speak. He just watched. His gaze cut into her like the radar of a predator drone. Precise, cold, reacting to every twitch.
Andromeda didn’t want to eat. Every nerve screamed no. She felt it down to her cells—that this wasn’t nourishment. This was submission. A silent a
