WILLOW'S POV.
I stormed down the hallway, trying to put as much space between us as possible, but my mind refused to follow. My steps were fast, but my heart wasn’t in the motion—it was tangled up in his presence, his lips, that impossible kiss.
He shouldn’t have done that.
I shouldn’t have felt… that.
I rounded a corner and slammed into the cold stone wall, pressing my forehead against it. My hands shook, trembling with a mix of rage and something I hated admitting even to myself.
Why does this feel like… more than it should?
I wanted to scream, to shout, to let all my fury out. But my voice caught in my throat. Instead, I dragged my hands down my face, trying to steady my breathing.
I hated him. I hated the way he made my blood rush without even touching me, the way his scent burn
