Katherine’s POV
He kept staring at me, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the bloody cloth in my hand.
“What is this?” I repeated, louder this time.
He scoffed. “Who the hell told you you could come into my room snooping around without my permission?” he snapped, voice raised.
I didn’t flinch. “What is this?” I yelled back, lifting the shirt higher. “I’m not playing games, Andrew—I just want to know what the hell I’m holding.”
“It’s a shirt! Damn it, Katherine!” he groaned, running a hand through his wet hair as he turned away from me, pacing toward the bed.
“I can see it’s a damn shirt!” I shot back, following him, holding it out like a weapon. “But why is there blood on it?”
He turned sharply, his footsteps heavy as he took a step toward me. His eyes darkened—cold, distant, dangerous.
