Dinner that evening was a tense affair. The table was set with Daemon’s usual perfection—polished silverware, crisp white napkins, and candles flickering just enough to create a warm glow. The food smelled incredible, but I could barely bring myself to eat. My stomach was in knots, my mind replaying our earlier encounter over and over like a broken record.
Brenda’s voice echoed in my head as I adjusted my seat, her teasing words ringing clear: “Oh, I don’t think so, bestie. Cause we’re just getting started either.”
Daemon entered the room a moment later, his presence commanding as always. He wore a dark button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms. I tried not to stare, but he had a way of filling every space he occupied.
“Hey,” he greeted, his voice sm
