Page 217 of Dark Heart


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She slides her hand up his arm and rests her delicate fingers on his shoulder, her grip speaking of tenderness and a connection to him. She angles her face up while he looks down to capture her expression.

He looks ravishing. Relaxed, amused. The owner of a different life.

It’s hard to find in him the man I used to know.

The wounded, broken man.

The man whose heart felt like a toxic desert. He seems content and whole. And now entranced by someone else.

She murmurs something to him, and he lowers his head so she can whisper in his ear. She brings her hands to his face and slowly trails his jawline.

His jawline.

My muscles tense beneath my skin. I could implode.

I take a small step toward the entrance, my gaze still pinned on them. A sharp pain rams through my chest as I see his lips meeting her cheek.

Shaking inside, I move closer to the door.

And then, it happens.

That very last moment. Just before I could turn around and never see him again, he raises his eyes and locks my gaze.

A split second––not even that––yet, it’s more than enough.

Enough to feel his gaze flow through me. Enough to let him read my eyes. Enough to see the change in him.

I whip my gaze away, not fast enough to miss the storm brewing in his eyes as he grapples with recognition.

His smile vanishes from his lips, his charm destined for that woman gone.

His eyes turn cold and gray, and that’s when I dash inside.

Sounds travel through the air–– his unmistakable voice, the woman’s giggle, and a few indistinguishable words spoken by his friends.

And then I hear his steps trailing me.

I lift the bottom of my dress and rush inside. The clicking-clanking of my shoes ripples through the air.

“Senna?”

The very sound of my name on his lips hurts me.

I’m almost running, yet his footsteps echo closer when I dash past the elevator and make a beeline for the stairs.

With one trembling hand, I hold my phone while I desperately sift through names, looking for my driver’s number.

The other clutches my purse.

Quivering and barely breathing, I make the call and briefly give him the instructions. The man is set to pick me up in less than twenty minutes, and it’s still not soon enough.

Fuck.

I reach the top of the stairs and swivel my head, searching for a place to hide, when his voice echoes behind me for the second time.

“Senna?”

I toss my phone into my clutch, slip the purse under my arm, grab the bottom of my skirt with both hands, and run up the next flight of stairs.

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