Madison’s POV
The dining room in Pedro’s mansion felt larger than it should have at night. The long mahogany table stretched between us like a battlefield, lit only by the low flicker of candles and the soft glow from the chandelier overhead. Crystal glasses caught the light, throwing tiny rainbows across the white tablecloth. Pedro sat at the head, relaxed in his chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, watching me over the rim of his wine glass.
I kept my hands folded in my lap so he wouldn’t see them shake.
The food was perfect—rare filet, truffle risotto, asparagus with butter that smelled like money. I pushed small pieces around my plate, appetite gone since the moment I walked through the front doors. He had been charming all evening: compliments on my dress, questions about my day, t
