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Chapter 8

ERICA

With shaky hands and an anxious heart, I set the tray of toast and the coffee pot on the dining table, my heart beating rapidly with every second that ticked by.

Raffael, who already had a scowl drawn on his face, watched me closely. I could feel his piercing gaze on me, but I dared not connect my eyes to his.

I could tell he was angry; he didn’t even need to say it. His jaws were clenched so tightly that they could slice through the air itself.

Opposite him, Clarissa sat, obviously enjoying the tension simmering in the air, an impudent smile coating her face.

I turned to leave when Raffael’s hoarse voice called me back, “Erica.”

Timidly, I spun around. “Yes, sir,” I replied.

“What time is it?” he calmly asked, his face suddenly void of any emotion.

I took a side glance at the wall clock and swallowed the lump in my throat. It was already 8:30.

“8:30, sir,” I muttered under my breath.

“And when did I say breakfast must be ready? Huh?” The words rolled out of
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