Amara's POV

My body felt rigid, a statue of stone in the plush leather booth. The scotch in my hand trembled, the amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. I placed it on the table with a soft clink, my gaze fixed on the glass, unable to meet his eyes. He had saved me, yes, but at what cost? He had orchestrated the entire situation, a cruel and elaborate trap, just to prove a point.

"Pour me another," he said, his voice a low, smooth command.

I did, my hands surprisingly ...