Orana’s point of view“Vaughn, stop,” I said, rushing so he could let go of me.His hand stayed locked around mine, firm as he pulled me through the restaurant, past curious glances and whispers. My heels struggled to keep up with his pace, my free hand trying to pry him loose.“Vaughn, stop,” I said again, sharper this time, and he didn’t stop.The doors swung open, and the cool night air hit us. Only then did he let go.I stumbled a step back, my pulse racing, my hand still tingling where his had been. He stood a few feet away, chest rising and falling as if he’d just run a mile, his jaw tight, shoulders rigid.For a moment, neither of us spoke. I was also out of breath from trying to stay calm.“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, trying to steady my voice.He dragged a hand down his face, eyes closing as he took a slow, measured breath. Another. Like he was forcing something down.When he looked at me again, it wasn’t the Vaughn I was used to.There was something raw there, something
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