Dunvegan Castle on the Isle of Skye did more than just house the history of the MacLeod clan; tonight, its cold stone walls stood as silent witnesses to the collapse of Julian Caldwell's integrity. Inside the dim library, the scent of burning peat in the hearth mingled with the aroma of vintage sherry and Selena Harrington's heavy, intoxicating perfume.
The table read, which should have been an exercise in pure professionalism, had devolved into a suffocating emotional labyrinth.
***
"Alistair wouldn't let go of his wife's hand simply because of logic, Julian. He would grip it until their bones shattered together," Selena whispered. Her voice was husky, laden with a lethal brand of method acting.
Julian stared at the script in his hands, but the words were a blur. He felt as though he were drowning. Eleven hours without a word from Scarlett, coupled with the isolation of this fortress, had eroded his sanity. Selena, with her predatory instincts, knew exactly when to strike.
