Ella's heart thudded painfully against her ribs, the weight of Nicholas's gaze pinning her in place.
He was too close.
Too calm.
Too dangerous.
Her breath caught as his dark eyes dragged over her ruined appearance—her wine-soaked hair, the tear-streaked smudges on her face, the damp shirt clinging to her skin. Every inch of her screamed humiliation, but Nicholas didn't look at her with pity.
No.
He looked at her like he wanted to burn the whole damn city down.
"Ella..." His voice was quieter this time, softer—but there was no mistaking the steel beneath it. "Who did this to you?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the lump rising in her throat.
Don't cry again.
She'd wasted enough tears today.
"It's not important," she whispered.
Nicholas's fingers brushed against her jaw—so gentle it made her ache. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him.
"It is to me."
Her heart squeezed painfully.
