Layla's POV
Chelsea froze, surprised by the tone that he used with her and, timidly, she extended her arm again, hand shaking like she was on stage performing the role of a helpless victim for a sold-out theatre.
Kian examined the marks carefully, his eyes narrowing just slightly.
There was no trace of his usual softness anywhere in his expression and no protective shift in his aura. Just a tired, bitter recognition that he had been played all these years.
"Kian," she whispered, trying again to lean into him, "she..."
He stepped back, not too quickly or sharply so it could be interpreted as a clear public rejection but it was unexpected enough that she stumbled forward a little.
"These aren't from her." he said impassively with a shrug, jamming his hands into his pocket
