ANDREA’S POV
The silence in the limousine felt profoundly worse than the screaming in the club.
Sitting huddled in the corner of the leather seat while wrapped securely in Maxwell’s heavy wool overcoat, the fabric smelled exactly like him: a mix of sandalwood, winter air, and the faint metallic tang of copper. Staring at his right hand resting on his knee revealed skin over the knuckles that was split open, raw, and red. A single drop of dark and viscous blood tracked slowly down his finger, completely ready to drip onto his pristine trousers.
Reaching into my pocket to find a crumpled tissue brought a moment of hesitation, causing my hand to tremble before slowly extending it toward him.
"Maxwell," I whispered. "Your hand. It's bleeding."
Snatching his hand away before any contact co
