Anya’s POV
His right fist rested on his thigh, knuckles torn, dried blood covering the skin like an ugly red glove. His fingers were curled tight, shaking just a little from the force he was holding inside. I wondered if his hand hurt, but he didn’t show even a hint of discomfort. He just looked like a man barely holding himself back from breaking something else.
I swallowed, hard. My throat burned.
He did that for me.
The thought wouldn’t leave my mind. It didn’t fit with the man I thought I knew now—the cold CEO who barely looked at me during the day… yet tonight he had stepped into danger without hesitation. For me. Because someone hurt me.
I kept stealing glances at him, confused and scared and touched all at the same time.
The driver didn’t speak. He drove smoothly, like he didn
