Zara’s POV
I give a disgruntled look in the mirror on top of the vanity in my room, at the damage that my husband did to my neck last night. Deep purple bruises litter my skin, each one a stark reminder of how foolish I am when it comes to the man that I am sharing an apartment with.
Part of me wants to hide, avoid Gerrard completely, but I was never one to cower from a situation, so after I chuck on some clothes, brush my teeth, and do what I can with the cluster of hickeys on my neck, I head out into the main living area.
Surprisingly, Gerrard isn’t already there, the kitchen and living room are empty, the door to his room is still closed. The only reason I know he hasn’t left without me is that the deadbolts are still in place on the front door. Gerrard must have come out after I ran
