CHAPTER 12: WICKED PROPOSALS

ANGEL’S POV:

The old grandfather clock spelled doom with every heavy tick, licking away the seconds like a bomb waiting to explode. In the grave silence, every unfortunate sound and action felt amplified. Tense. Brutal.

A drop of cold sweat rolled down my neck. I swallowed, yet the paralyzing ball of anxiety threatened to bruise my wildly racing heart. It echoed mercilessly, syncing naturally with the foreboding footsteps Christian took as he returned from the kitchen with a bottle of wine.

He must have seized the oxygen in the room, cause in seconds of reappearing, my lungs tightened painfully and air evaded me. My insides burned, but I feared that perhaps if I breathed too loudly, he’d be reminded of my presence.

Unfortunately, I was wrong. Christian already had his eyes fixed precisely on me.

“I must say, Mr. Winchester, I’m impressed by your taste in wine. This might perhaps be your only redeemable quality.” The man gave off a wolfish-grin.

“He deserves no redemption.” It was the