Elena gripped the bedsheets, a cold sweat breaking on her skin.
That shouldn't be possible. She was Elena Vaughn. She didn't let her guard down. She didn't find comfort in the enemy's arms, and she certainly didn't let a man carry her to bed like a fragile doll.
This is so embarrassing.
But the embarrassment was instantly swallowed by a sharp, icy wave of panic.
He saw me crying. Shit.
Alaric was already hyper-observant. He had been tracking her every micro-expression for days. Now, after seeing her break down completely in the dark, he would suspect her even more. Day by day, her walls were cracking, and Alaric Hale was rapidly getting the upper hand in this situation.
If he looked too closely, if he dug too deep into her sudden vulnerability, he would find the invisible threads leading straight to that private hospital room.
Elena slid her legs out of bed, her expression instantly resetting into its cold, calculation mask.
