DANIELLE'S POV
I sit across from Wilson Luther in the private study of his estate, my hands clenched tightly in my lap, nails digging into my palms.
The room is all dark wood paneling and leather-bound books, the kind of space that exudes power and control. A crystal decanter is set on the mahogany desk between us, half-filled with a honey-colored liquid that catches the afternoon light pouring through the heavy curtains.
But right now, looking at him, all I can think about is Xarion.
And how he dumped me like I was trash.
My chest tightens, and I have to force myself to breathe evenly. I won't cry. Not here. Not in front of Wilson.
I've already cried enough.
"Danielle," Wilson's voice breaks through my thoughts, firm but gentle. "I know you're hurting. But you need to pull yourself
