THE FIRST thing Lily lost was air.
Not all at once. Not in a dramatic rush. It went in shallow pulls that did not reach her lungs, like her body had forgotten the last step of breathing. Her vision narrowed, edges blurring, the apartment lights smearing into pale bands. The sound of her pulse filled her ears, loud and steady and terrifyingly calm.
Robert’s hand was at her throat.
Not squeezing hard enough to crush. Not shaking. Not trembling with anger. His grip was exact, fingers placed where they needed to be, pressure applied with care. It was intimate in the most violating way, close and controlled, as if he had measured this moment before arriving in it.
Her hands lifted on instinct, then stopped.
The realization came through the haze, sharp and cold. He was not emotional. He was
