Iliana’s POV:He stopped behind me, and my knuckles turned white with the force with which I was gripping the counter to keep myself from collapsing.He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, eyes locked on me through the mirror.For the first time ever, he wasn’t wearing a mask over his face. I blinked, trying to focus, but my vision stayed blurred—spiked drink, adrenaline, and fear all muddled together.Still, I saw the way his chest heaved up and down with each labored breath. My stomach twisted when my eyes dropped to his tightly coiled fists at his sides.And then, he started moving closer until his front brushed against my back.His breath hit the nape of my neck, scorching and ragged, as he seethed with rage, “Why?”His voice was low, rough, and laced with something that sent a chill down my spine.My breath caught in my throat, and my heartbeat became a chaotic mess in my ribcage.He stepped closer, caging me between the counter and his body. All of a sudden, a loud gasp
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