Clay POV
I was struggling to keep it together, my heart pounding in my chest as panic threatened to consume me. The sight of Emma, in just bandages, sent a wave of anger surging through me.
I could feel the weight of her pain and suffering, as if it were my own. The gash on her back looked deep and raw, a vivid reminder of the torment she had endured. Bruises covered her body, each one a testament to the brutality she had faced. It pained me to see her like this, but what hurt even more was her desire to hide her injuries from me. Did she still not trust me enough to share her pain? Determined to help, I guided her into the bathroom. The squeak of the faucet turning, the gentle cascade of water into the tub created a soothing ambiance.
She stood before me, silent and visibly uncomfort
