Carl didn’t raise his voice when he was angry. That was the problem.

He smiled. Too calmly. Too easily. Like he was enjoying the sound of his own control.

Dinner was perfect — too perfect. The kind of perfection that only existed when something was about to break. The silver gleamed. The candles burned low. The servants moved like ghosts.

And across from me was Damon. My bodyguard. My secret. My sin.

He stood behind Carl’s chair, silent, composed, his expression unreadable. But I ...