When Corvine stepped into the presidential suite Liah had booked, he had no idea about the true extent of her injuries. He'd assumed the punch to her face was the worst of it, that her shame came from Killian's attempted assault, not from any physical damage beyond a bruise.
He lowered her gently onto the luxury rug, careful not to jostle her, but she winced sharply and hopped on one leg, her hand flying to her ankle.
His arms caught her before she could fall, and he carried her the rest of the way to the sofa, settling her against the plush cushions.
There, he saw it, her ankle, twisted at an unnatural angle, already swelling beneath the skin. His gaze darkened, the warm concern in his eyes hardening into something cold and dangerous. "How did it happen?"
"I twisted it when he punched me in the face."
