Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Why the hell was he so furious with her?
It was her life. She could do whatever she pleased with it. He had no claim over her, no authority to corner her, accuse her, tear into her the way he had.
And yet
He couldn't stop himself.
Ever since that day in the classroom, when he had tried to intimidate her into keeping her distance, she had lingered in his thoughts. She had listened, too. She had begun avoiding him, just as he'd wanted.
But something shifted in that cramped elevator.
The girl trapped there with him hadn't been the same chatterbox he'd dismissed. She hadn't been shallow. She hadn't been foolish. She had spoken like someone who understood the weight of living. Like someone who knew sorrow intimately. She had recognized pain in him seen it without him saying a word. She had even tried to help.
For a fleeting second, he had looked at her differently.
Then he saw Julien's hands on her.
