Chapter 8

Amanda

Emiliana's apartment looked like something out of an interior decorator's magazine. Everything, from the door to the window on the right that faced the street, revealed the amount of money and time that had been invested in it.

Strangely, it didn't look like the cold, single woman's lair that the woman walking behind me seemed to suggest. I saw the built-in kitchen separated from the living room by a roughly two-meter-long counter. The living room had a white couch, a glass coffee table in the center, and a 50-inch TV in front of it.

I liked the small decorations that showcased Emiliana's intense personality. There was also a dining area with enough seating for six people.

"What do you think?" she asked, taking off her coat and leaving it on the couch. "Can I take your trench coat?" she inquired, standing next to me.

The fabric brushed against the burns on my wrists, making me wince. Emiliana looked down, furrowed her brow, and focused on them.

"We need to treat those," she sai
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