Chapter 9 The Velvet Throne
The room was cloaked in a soft, golden glow from overhead lanterns. Shadows danced across the high ceilings, and the air held the scent of spiced leather and vanilla musk. Isla stood at the threshold of what looked like a private throne room—lavish, opulent, and twisted in its purpose.
Dominic stood by the far wall, dressed in black slacks and a wine-colored shirt, sleeves rolled up, exposing the veins in his forearms. His gaze swept over her slowly, calculating and possessive.
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