"Dinner? Since when was it decided that I would be having a private dinner with Sebastian tonight?" Sarah's voice was dangerously low. On the surface, she appeared composed, a statue of cool, ivory defiance but beneath the skin, her blood was boiling like hot oil just seconds away from spilling over.
Her fingers tightened slightly at her sides, nails pressing into her palm as she tried to hold herself together.
Who gave them the right?
Who decided this for her?
The audacity of it made her vision blur at the edges. Did they take her for a decorative piece of furniture? A pawn to be moved across the mansion's floorboards whenever it suited them?
Why did everyone keep acting like her life was something they could arrange at will?
She had spent years being the plus-one to Martin's ego, a woman whose schedule was written in someone else's ink.
She had sworn that when she crawled out of the wreckage of her old life, she would never again be a passenger in her own story.
