Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five
The fork scraped lightly against the ceramic plate.
She had not touched most of the food. A bite or two of rice. A few spoonfuls of sauce. But everything else sat untouched, growing cold with the room's silence.
Across the long dining table, Matilda and her nanny glanced at her and then at each other.
She didn't speak. Her knife hovered in her hand, forgotten, while her mind circled like a predator around Markus' words.
'He said either you come to him, or he comes to you. Or you meet at the usual spot.'
Her grip tightened on the object in her hand.
The usual spot. Of all the places.
His apartment had been their secret place, hiding whatever sick and twisted bond they had shared; above blood and games and betrayal. The only place that wasn't tainted by their families' differences. The first place he had touched her skin. The first time she had ever allowed herself to soften.
'You're an idiot,' she whispered to herself.
