We walked toward the door.
Just before stepping into the hallway, I looked back.
Damien was standing beside his desk.
Watching quietly.
Not with the possessive expression Brandon always wore.
With something softer.
Concern, perhaps.
Or respect.
I didn’t know.
All I knew was that the most frightening man in Chicago had been the first stranger in years to ask what I wanted.
And that changed something inside me.
At Jasmine’s apartment, I slept on her couch.
Actually, I barely slept at all.
Every sound outside made me jump.
Every passing car made my stomach twist.
At four in the morning, Jasmine found me sitting beside the window.
She brought two cups of tea.
Then she sat beside me.
“You don’t have to tell me everything tonight,” she said.
I stared into my cup.
“I thought if I loved him enough, he’d stop.”
Jasmine’s eyes filled.
“Hannah…”
“I thought maybe I was too sensitive. Maybe I made him angry. Maybe if I kept the house cleaner or stopped disagreeing—”
