Page 103 of A Taste like Sin

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Shaking, I claim a sink for myself and splash cold water on my face. Looking at my reflection, I try to

see the same woman everyone else is. But I don’t. I see a fraud in a dress that fits her too perfectly.

Silk roses cup her breasts but threaten to expose her with the slightest shift of fabric. The entire

construction is an elaborate dance between elegant and obscene.

Looking at myself, I settle my suspicion once and for all: He designed this. Only a madman could

taunt me in the form of couture. Only Damien Villa could design a trap in the form of a dress.

And only he would be cunning enough to masquerade as a monster.

When Damien doesn’t appear, I exit the restroom.

“Excuse me. Ms. Thorne?”

I turn and find a man approaching me. Tall and imposing, he cuts a striking figure almost as chilling as

Damien. A name comes to mind as I meet his gaze. Kyle Harrison. He shares the same, piercing gaze

as his father, honed like a laser.

“I hope my father spoke to you,” he says while reaching for my hand. I shiver as he grasps my fingers,

lifting them to his mouth, “I would love an endorsement from your father, even with his…current

issues.”

He smiles.

I cringe. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not sure if—”

“Think on it,” he urges, releasing me. “I would hate to see his legacy end in ruin.”

I watch him go, so lost in thought that I nearly collide with someone walking past me. A giggling

woman who staggers to regain her balance. Not that she seems to mind. “Are you Juliana?” she asks,

her voice breathy.

When I nod, she steers the train of her navy-blue gown with one hand while offering me a white

envelope in the other.

“A man asked me to give this to you.” Her raised eyebrow indicates curiosity, but the wine on her

breath leads me to believe she won’t remember enough of this encounter to gossip about it later.

“Thank you.” I take the note and watch her stumble into the restroom. Then I rip it open and read

while hunched against the wall.

Come to the east wing.

The sender didn’t even bother to sign it—not that he needed to. I can smell him. Sin and malice

embedded within the paper itself.

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