CHAPTER 110
The heavy oak doors hadn't been closed for more than twenty minutes before the soft click of heels against the polished marble of the hallway signaled another presence approaching the oppressive silence of the master suite.
Isabella didn't move. She remained curled into a tight, defensive ball of misery in the center of the vast, sprawling bed, her face pressed deeply into the dark, cool silk of Lucian's discarded robe.
She was greedily inhaling the fading, haunting scent of sandalwood and cold rain that still clung stubbornly to the expensive fabric—a sensory reminder of the man who had just walked away from her with such calculated distance.
She heard the door groan open on its heaves, a sliver of light from the corridor cutting an agonizing path across the dim, shadowed room, but she didn't look up.
