It’s been a week since the mess with FBI Agent Thorne, and I still can’t seem to shake the feeling that something’s hanging over me. Maybe it’s the bruises on my throat, though they’ve mostly faded to yellow and green now, easily hidden under the scarf I’ve been wearing. Or maybe it’s the memory of Dominic, looking at me with that dark intensity like he knows what I’m thinking even before I do. He’s been caring for me these past few days—bringing me food, making sure I’m resting, helping me around the house. And it’s… weird. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I’ve never had anyone do that for me before. I’m not sure how to feel about it.
It’s not just the tenderness, though. It’s how he looks at me sometimes, like he’s trying to figure out the puzzle that is me. Like he sees something no
