BREA POV.
The scent of familiar cologne and the sound of soft footsteps walking toward my bed woke me up from my slumber, but I didn't open my eyes.
After months spent in the asylum, I could pretend to be asleep to save my life.
I felt his gaze boring into my face and my skin prickled in awareness. What did he want? Why was he just standing there and staring at me? And how could he have such a powerful breathtaking presence when he was just a man?
I don't think I am breathing. My chest was tight with tension but I refused to open my eyes. I couldn't look at him, not after what happened the last time he was in my room.
The blood of the dead man had ruined my dress, but I didn't have to worry because I was given two pairs of shirts the next day, and without asking, I knew they belonged
