*Roanne’s POV*

I was perched on the edge of the plush velvet sofa, legs crossed, fingers unconsciously tracing the tender skin around my wrist. The bruise felt like a burn every time I pressed it, a stark reminder of Damien's possessive grip. My heart still hammered with an undercurrent of fear, but in Michael's presence, I tried to show I was calm.

Michael paced the room, his face etched with concern, the lines in his forehead deepening as Jonathan recounted ...