Master of Her Sins
I just stared at the exhaustion lining her beautiful face, the subtle tremor in her lower lip, and the desperate, wild look in her eyes that reminded me so much of the night her family’s estate burned to the ground.
“You always choose the hardest way,” I said quietly.
The words fell softly into the empty foyer, stripped of the icy dominance of the Don and the bitter resentment of the captor.
It was an old phrase—a quiet complaint I used to murmur to her years ago when she would hide in the library rafters to avoid my father’s tutors, or when she refused to take the medicine I brought her when she was sick.
Bela froze entirely.
The defiance in her expression cracked, a profound, unsettling co