The worst part is that I let it happenagainwhen I promised her I wouldn’t.
No matter what happened between us, I should never have allowed her to get hurt.
I failed her.
She should never have been anywhere near the person putting bruises on her body, yet somehow she ended up in the same room as him, and I wasn’t there when she needed me.
I need answers, and I need them now because I’m more convinced than ever that cunt is her husband.
He was here.
And now she’s unconscious with a bruise hidden beneath makeup.
The picture practically paints itself.
She shifts slightly, and my eyes immediately snap to her.
On her split lip. A split lip I somehow failed to notice in my rush to get her upstairs.
She stirs again.
“Come on, open those eyes for me, beautiful,” I murmur. “Let me see them.”
“Hunter,” she says as she blinks at me, confused.
She takes in her surroundings, then looks back at me.
“What happened?”
“You fainted.”
The answer feels inadequate, but I have enough self-control not to bombard her with the hundred questions currently tearing through my head.
“I...” She pushes herself up, but I place a hand on her shoulder and stop her.
“You need to rest. You don’t look well. What happened? Are you hurt?”
She looks at me intently.
“I... no.”
Lies.
Fucking lies.
I keep my expression neutral and give a small nod as though I believe her.
“Get some sleep.”
Her brow furrows.
“What are you going to do?”
“Watch over you.”
She closes her eyes, and before long I can tell she’s asleep from the slow rise and fall of her chest.
She looks weak.
