-Roxy Delgado:
I could hardly keep my hands still as I sat perched on the edge of the oversized, plush sofa in my room, my heart hammering like a drum in my chest.
Four weeks had passed since Sloane had started visiting, meticulously tending to my wounds, keeping an eye on me, and enduring my relentless flirts without ever losing her professional composure.
And yet, here I was, watching her like a hawk, unable to take my eyes off her. She had this quiet, almost understated aura of control that both infuriated and fascinated me. Every precise movement, every tilt of her head, every calculated step she took toward me sent my pulse racing and my thoughts spiraling.
The sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, scattering patterns across the polished hardwood floor. The room smelled faintly of lavender from the diffusers I had insisted on using, though I knew Sloane would likely ignore it.
