The moment Damon opened the door, I knew the mask was back on.

Cold. Professional. Untouchable.

The guard standing outside didn’t question why I looked breathless, or why my hair was slightly mussed. He simply bowed his head and said, “Your father requests your presence in the east wing, Miss Kingsley.”

Father requests.

Not Father asks.

Never asks.

I smoothed the front of my dress, praying he couldn’t see the evidence of Damon’s hands on me, or the way my lips still ...