The weekend had ended in an endless array of interesting emotions; the leaves fell slowly from the trees, carried by a gentle wind that seemed to whisper secrets in one's ear. In contrast to that outer serenity, Eliza's room was a silent chaos. The lights turned off, the curtains closed, and the phone vibrating insistently on the desk set the stage for her internal torment.
Damian. Another missed call. Another unread message.
Eliza was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees while her thoughts consumed her. There was something sickening about the way her mind traveled again and again to the yacht, to Lucian, to his golden eyes that seemed to pierce every corner of her soul. She brought her hands to her face, trying to contain the tears that threatened to spill. She couldn't help it; she felt dirty, broken, as if she had betrayed everything that had once been sacred to her.
