Amara Pov

The moment I stepped into the bar, I regretted it.

The lights were low, music humming in the background, but the weight of everything pressed heavier than the alcohol-scented air. I spotted Dorian at a corner table, waving like this was a casual reunion and not the confrontation it was.

I shouldn’t have come but I was tired, tired of hiding, tired of running, tired of men like Dorian thinking they could pull strings behind the curtain of my life. His message had been the last ...