Cindy’s POV
It had been two whole days, and my body still burned with the memory of him.
I stood before the mirror in my dressing room, adjusting the soft straps of a flowery sundress that hugged my waist and skimmed my knees.
A small red leather bag dangled from my arm, its glossy finish catching the morning light. My hair fell in loose waves down my shoulders, and my lips—painted a bold, defiant red—looked fuller than ever.
I almost didn’t recognize myself. This wasn’t the tired, forgotten woman who used to hide behind oversized sweaters and silence.
No, this version of me looked alive. And the worst part? I knew exactly who was responsible.
My cheeks flushed at random times, my chest tightened whenever I closed my eyes, and no amount of cold showers had scrubbed away what Damian d
