Damon's POV
I spotted her immediately as I walked into the hotel bar. There she was, seated at a table on the veranda—that unmistakable silhouette I once knew so well. Tall and slender, with those cascading waves of chestnut hair, wrapped in a black dress that dipped dangerously low. One hand held her signature strawberry daiquiri, the other a cigarette. Sasha. The woman who was once my wife. The woman who had delivered an ultimatum—choose between her or my badge—then walked away when I refused to bow to her demands.
