I was sitting on a chair that was a bit lower, so when I turned my head, all I saw at first were a pair of long, lean legs. As my eyes moved up, I caught sight of Henry Smith’s tightly drawn eyebrows and that cold fire dancing in his eyes.
He looked way skinnier—his cheekbones sharper, the hollows under his eyes darker than ever, like he hadn’t slept in days. It had only been a week, but he looked totally wrecked.
Was Lena Carter draining the life out of him?
That thought stung more than I expected. Bitterness welled up inside me.
“You’re really pregnant?” His voice dragged out—low, lifeless, but under all that tiredness was a chill you couldn't miss.
“Yeah,” I nodded, keeping it flat. But right then, he suddenly yanked me into his arms.
He sat down on the empty seat to
