Mated to the Forbidden
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The shame always returned, sinking into my bones, reminding me that perhaps I should have been born into some nameless, ordinary family where weakness would not be a curse.
My eyes moved to the arena where Andrea stood, commanding the center of the stadium as if she owned it. She wore fitted black jeans and a leather-sleeved top that clung to her curves, her body radiating a mature, intimidating beauty. Combat boots anchored her stance. She was smiling—a sharp, devilish smile that made my heart race—but it was not as chilling as the expression I had seen yesterday, when her nails had hovered at my throat, ready to pierce.
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