Isabella POV
Elena Vasquez's private clinic was on the top floor of a fancy medical building on the Upper East Side, the kind of place where rich people went for plastic surgery and mental problems they couldn't afford to have anyone know about. I sat in the marble lobby at seven-fifty PM, my hands folded in my lap like a kid waiting to see the principal, trying to ignore the way Damien sitting beside me made my skin buzz with forbidden electricity.
We hadn't talked during the car ride over. Hadn't touched. Hadn't even looked at each other directly. But I could feel the tension coming off him like heat, could sense the same desperate war inside him that had been tearing me apart for the past four days.
