Victor.
I gasped when I realized it was him.
The hand over my mouth was warm, familiar — too familiar — fingers firm enough to silence me without hurting. My heart slammed violently against my ribs, fear flaring sharp and instinctive before recognition crashed through it.
His eyes were inches from mine.
Dark. Burning. Furious.
"Shh," he whispered, breath hot against my cheek. "Be quiet."
Rage flooded me instantly, drowning the fear.
I twisted, slapping his hand away with everything I had.
"What are you doing?" I hissed. "You think you can just show up like this?"
He didn't answer. He just watched me — slow, deliberate — like he was memorizing every breath, every tremor.
"You ignored me for days," I snapped, shoving my palms into his chest, "and now you come here like I'm—" My voice broke with fury. "Like I'm your little whore?"
Something dark flashed in his eyes.
