Hazel POV
The city lights streaked past the tinted windows in long, golden blurs. I pressed my palms flat against the leather seat, trying to anchor myself as the Maybach glided smoothly through traffic. My heart hadn’t slowed since he’d pulled me inside. Every breath felt shallow, every second stretched too long.
I finally found my voice when we were several blocks away from the bridal salon.
“Why did you drag me in here?” The words came out sharper than I intended, edged with the panic still clawing at my throat.
Asher didn’t look at me right away. He leaned back against the seat, one arm stretched along the backrest, fingers drumming once—twice—against the leather. His profile was sharp in the dim interior light: high cheekbones, straight nose, that perpetual line of tension around
