Savannah's POV
My skin feels like it's on fire.
From the moment I was born, I was molded to be perfect. The ideal daughter, the flawless asset for my pack. Every movement calculated, every word measured, every expression crafted to serve a purpose.
I learned early how to endure discomfort without showing it. Countless strangers tested my composure throughout my childhood, trying to crack the facade my father demanded I maintain. They offered bribes, threats, manipulation - anything to make the pack leader's daughter slip up and reveal weakness.
But today, sitting in this upscale restaurant with my husband and his brother, maintaining my composure feels impossible.
The marks Jonathan left on my skin last night burn beneath my dress. Every shift in my seat, every breath I take, reminds me of his hands on my body. The fabric brushes against sensitive areas, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the conversation.
"You seem distracted today, Savannah. Everything alright?"
