Phoebe's POV
The glass exploded into fragments, a razor-sharp piece slicing across Perry's flesh.
Dead silence followed the crash, lasting only a heartbeat before he calmly instructed me to remain in bed.
"Stay put. I'll bring you another." His face showed zero reaction as he filled a fresh glass and approached me.
I snatched it from his hands and launched it across the room.
This one smashed against the wall, shattering completely. I fixed him with a murderous stare, letting him see every ounce of my hatred.
He deserved my hate, yet something flickered in his eyes—a longing for something else entirely.
"Don't want water? Fine. Marcela's coming. I'll wait until she arrives."
He settled on the bed's edge, keeping his distance. He didn't dare touch me, though I caught the way his hands twitched, like he wanted to pull me into his arms.
When I hauled myself upright and lunged at him, raking my nails down his face, he simply let me.
