WILLOW'S POV.
I stared at Atlas, my wrist still trapped in his grip. Somehow I’d managed to end up between him and the door in the middle of my struggle. His hold wasn’t painful, but it was firm—
the kind of hold that said he wasn’t going anywhere until he got what he wanted.
My glare sharpened.
“Let me go, Atlas,” I said, my voice a low growl.
He didn’t move. Not even a twitch. His jaw flexed, his eyes locked on mine like I was some puzzle he refused to give up on.
Anger burned in my chest.
“Three,” I hissed. “I’ll count to three. If you don’t let go, I swear by the moon I’ll do something I definitely won’t regret.”
I saw the way his breath hitched. His eyes darkened.
But still, he didn’t let go.
My nostrils flared.
“One.”
His eyes didn’t flicker. He just stared at me like he
