Anya’s POV
Everything inside me was a mess. Too hot. Too cold. Too confused.
Why would he ask about my personal life?
Why would he look at me like he actually wanted to know the answer?
Why would he care if someone hurt me?
He didn’t.
He couldn’t.
He had shown me—again and again—that he didn’t care. Not about me. Not about anything that hurt me. All he cared about was keeping distance, keeping control, keeping his walls up.
I shook my head hard, trying to clear it. I didn’t want to think about the way his voice had softened, or the way his eyes had searched mine like he… like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to.
No. That wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
I hurried down the stairs, almost tripping on the last step because my legs still felt a little weak. I just needed to get out. I
