Chapter 23

• Roxanne’s POV
• The morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the grand dining hall felt aggressive against my skin. I sat at the long, polished mahogany table, mechanically cutting through a piece of French toast that tasted entirely like cardboard. My body felt heavy, uncharacteristically warm, and deeply affected by the events of the previous night. Every time I shifted in my seat, the faint ache between my thighs served as a brutal reminder of what I had surrendered to the man sitting at the head of the table.
• Joaquin de Cadejaz.