POV: Fiona
For a fraction of a second, when Maxwell stepped out of the dark shadows of my apartment hallway, my body left me.
What I felt was the kind of fear that bypasses your brain and goes straight to your muscles, to your lungs, to the place that remembers what it felt like to be trapped.
I gasped. My hands slipped, and my keys hit the floor with a loud clatter that echoed off the thin walls.
The grocery bag slipped from my fingers. An apple rolled out, thudding against the baseboard.
Maxwell’s eyes instantly locked onto mine.
He looked wild. Hair slightly disheveled, tie loosened, the front of his shirt smeared with black ink. His chest was heaving like he’d run the entire way here. He looked like a man who expected me to scream, to cry, or to try and run away from him. He
