Roxy's POV

Sleep had refused to come.

I had been tossing beneath the duvet for what felt like hours, turning from side to side, punching my pillow into different shapes, and hoping exhaustion would eventually win, but it did not. Not in this house, not tonight.

Apparently, six years had done nothing to prepare me for sleeping under the same roof as Cain. I shoved the duvet aside and sat up with a groan.

The room was too quiet. Too perfect. Everything about it screamed luxury, but none of it felt like mine. Dinner was still a while away, and I had no intention of lying there staring at the ceiling until then. If this was what the next six weeks were going to feel like, I was going to lose my mind before Richard even got his precious family reunion off the ground.

I slipped into the bathroom and flicked on the light. The woman in the mirror looked tired, irritated, and far too rattled by a man she’d spent six years trying to erase from her memory.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Roxy?" I leaned toward the mirror and glared at my reflection. “Get a hold of yourself. Cain Carrington is nothing but an evil, disgusting swine from your past. He doesn’t matter anymore. He shouldn't be the reason you can't sleep. No one should.”

I turned on the tap and splashed cold water over my face. It ran down my cheeks and dripped from my chin, but the chill did nothing to clear my mind. If anything, it brought the memories rushing back—Cain laughing, the sheet held up over his head like some trophy, him telling two hundred people exactly what had happened between us, turning something that had once meant everything to me into entertainment.

My stomach twisted. I hated him so much that sometimes I imagined digging my nails into those perfectly sculpted eyes and making him feel even a fraction of what he had made me feel.

So why did my heart betray me every time he came close?

Why had my breath caught when he’d walked into the room?

Why had six years of hatred suddenly become so difficult to hold onto when he’d looked at me?

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the bathroom wall. “Damn it, what the hell is wrong with me?”

A knock sounded from the bedroom door, and I straightened. “Who is it?”

“It’s Tendra, ma’am. Mr. Carrington asked that you come downstairs for dinner.”

I glanced at myself in the mirror one last time. “Of course he did,” I muttered, and then raised my voice. “I’ll be down in a minute!”

I dried my face, slipped into my robe, and headed downstairs.

By the time I reached the dining room, dinner had already been served. Richard was in the middle of some long story about a vacation he’d taken in Singapore, waving one hand as he described the hotel as though he’d personally discovered the place, while my mother listened with an amused smile, absolutely smitten with his money, I mean.

The moment I entered the dining room, the conversation stopped and every eye turned toward me. I kept my eyes forward and walked toward the table like my entire body wasn't aware of exactly where he was sitting.

"There you are!" Richard smiled as soon as he saw me. "I was beginning to think you didn't want to leave that room of yours."

I forced a small smile. "Sorry. I lost track of time."

Richard stood and pulled out a chair for me, but my mother was already waving me toward the seat beside her.

I nodded at everyone quietly before sitting down.

Richard signaled to one of the waiters. “Serve her, please.”

“Thank you.”

The maid placed a plate in front of me, and I picked up my fork. I could feel Cain’s gaze burning into me, but I refused to look at him. Instead, I concentrated on my food with ridiculous determination, as if the roasted vegetables on my plate were the most fascinating things I had ever seen.

His gaze didn't waver, like he was waiting for me to look up, like he was hoping I would forget every reason I had spent years hating him.

He must have been insane, a complete idiot even, because there was no chance I was going to give him that satisfaction.

I stabbed my fork into a piece of meat, but in my imagination, it wasn’t meat it was his face. I stabbed it again and again. My goodness, how satisfying it would be to reach across the table, grab that infuriatingly handsome face, and slap him, or hit him… Or kiss him.

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth absolutely not.

“Roxy.”

Richard’s voice pulled me back into the room. I blinked and looked up to find the whole table watching me, and I straightened instantly.

"Are you good?" Richard asked, amusement flickering across his face.

I cleared my throat and forced out a small laugh. "Of course. I just got a little lost there for a second."

Richard studied me for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but eventually shrugged. “Well, we all saw that.” He clapped his hands together lightly. “Anyway, your mother was just asking what you thought about the decor in your room.”

“Oh.” I reached for my wine and took a sip. “It’s nice. Bright. Cheerful. Pink’s a pretty color.”

Cain snorted. It wasn’t loud, but it was audible enough that every head at the table turned toward him.

My mother’s brows pulled together. “What’s the matter, Cain? You don’t think pink is pretty?”

He leaned back in his chair, looking too amused. “There’s no way Roxy thinks that bedroom is nice.”

My eyes narrowed. “And how the hell are you so sure?”

His gaze met mine. "Come on, Roxy. You hate pink, remember?"

Silence settled over the table, and Richard’s eyebrows shot up. “She does?” He turned to my mother. "Honey, I thought you said pink was her favorite color."

My mother frowned. "I thought so too.”