Rosalind’s pulse thundered in her ears. The stranger’s grip on her wrist was steady, unyielding—but not aggressive. It was as if he was holding onto something far more than just her arm.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded again, yanking her hand free.
The man tilted his head, his lips curving into something between amusement and intrigue.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
Rosalind stiffened. His voice… it stirred something buried deep in her memory.
She scrutinized him—dark eyes, sharp jaw, the air of quiet authority. He wasn’t just some wealthy guest enjoying a luxury cruise. No. This man knew her.
The way he watched her, like he was waiting for recognition to dawn, sent a cold shiver down her spine.
"I don’t have time for riddles," she said, stepping back.
"Ah." His smirk deepen
