The morning after the dinner party, the penthouse was too quiet. Not serene not stifling.
Sierra moved through the kitchen like a ghost, her silk robe clinging to her damp skin. She hadn’t slept. Vanessa’s words still rang in her ears, that poisonous sweetness: It’s remarkable, the way you follow his lead.
Damien sat at the head of the table, coffee steaming in front of him, paper unopened. He wasn’t reading. He was waiting. Watching.
When Sierra brushed past him, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist. The jolt made her gasp.
“You’re trembling,” he said.
Her voice cracked. “She’s pulling me apart. She has me tied in knots, Damien. I can’t…..”
He yanked her down onto his lap, holding her tight, his breath hot against her ear. “Listen to me. She doesn’t own you. She doesn’t touch you.
