The long dining table was laid with quiet elegance, candlelight flickering off silverware. She stepped in, freshly dressed from her shower, hair slightly damp, face bare but glowing. Dominic was already seated at the head of the table, a glass of wine in hand, his gaze locked on her like a predator with all the patience in the world.
She took a seat—far from him.
"You're late," he said smoothly, placing his glass down. "Or is that your way of trying to make me wait, Mrs. Moretti?"
She rolled her eyes, stabbing her fork into the pasta the chef had prepared. "Don't call me that."
"I thought you liked honesty."
"I like freedom," she snapped, not looking up.
He smirked. "Ah, freedom. Is that what today was about? Playing pretend on a bus, hiding your ring, lying to your new little friend
