KELLAN’S POV
I leaned back in the leather chair of my suite, my gaze fixed on the streetlights glowing against the dark London skyline. The city sprawled before me, alive and glittering, but it was wasted on a mind too clouded to notice. On the table beside me, a glass of whiskey sat untouched, condensation dripping onto the polished surface.
None of those conversations that I replayed in my head made any difference. Every word Amanda had spoken was like a record playing on in my brain: the hesitation at my question about her past, the politeness but carefulness of the answers, the way her smile fluttered too fast whenever Carl was in the room-as if it wasn't hers at all, but something she had been taught.
Controlled.
By him.