Chapter 117 Storm

• “Bianca and you barely touched your food,” Rafayel observed, his gaze lingering on my untouched plate. With a dismissive flick of his wrist, he summoned Jane. “Prepare sandwiches now.”
• The villa’s main lounge hummed with silence. Sandalwood and mint coiled from the diffuser, a false calm that did nothing to settle the storm behind my ribs.
• I sank deeper into the armchair, the porcelain cup burning my palms as I forced another sip of lukewarm tea.