He caught my wrist and pulled me back toward the bed, his grip firm but controlled, the kind that came from restraint rather than force. His eyes stayed on me, steady and searching, as he asked, "Do you still feel bad?"
His question made me pause. "Feel bad?"
"About my injury."
I lowered my head and let out a quiet, short laugh. Shaking it off, I answered, "No, Ashton. Whether you live or die is no longer something that concerns me."
I knew those words would provoke him. I said them anyway.
He stayed silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on me as if trying to read something I refused to show. Then he finally spoke, his voice low, "Scarlett, there's really no place for me in your heart, is there?"
"Yes."
