“Which means something else happened.” His gaze lifted back to my face. “Something that made you tense. Something that made you lie to me. Something that made you hide your …”
He stopped.
His gaze locked on to the spot where Silas’s knuckles had connected with my cheekbone.
And stayed there.
I watched the realization hit him in slow motion. His eyebrows drew together. The muscle in his jaw clenched so hard,I could see the outline of bone. His hand, hanging at his side, slowly curled into a fist.
When he reached for me again, his thumb and forefinger found my chin, tilting my face up toward the light.
For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He just stared at the mark I’d tried so hard to hide, his attention tracing the edge of the bruise like he was memorizing its exact shape.
Then a sound came out of him.
Low. Guttural. Something between a growl and a snarl.
“Who the fuck did this to you?”
My gaze shot to Dr. Mercer’s closed office door. Then the security camera, thankfully too far for anyone to see or hear us.
“It was him.” Knox released my chin, his hand dropping to his side. The tendons in his forearm stood out like cables. “Your ex. Wasn’t it?”
I didn’t answer.
“He fucking hit you. Again.”
“Please keep your voice down.”
“That’s not a no, Princess.”
“Look, I have it handled, okay?”
“Handled?” The word came out like broken glass. “What the fuck does that mean?”
The office door opened. Dr. Mercer stepped out, a chart in her hands. She looked between us, taking in Knox’s posture, my defensive stance, the tension crackling in the air.
“Everything okay out here?”
Knox didn’t even glance at her. Every molecule of his attention was fixed on me.
But he took a step back. Put distance between us.
“Fine,” I said smoothly.
Dr. Mercer hesitated, but after a few seconds, she said, “I’ll be in exam room two if you need me.”
The second she was gone, Knox’s voice dropped to something dangerous. “Start. Talking.”
I let out a breath. “I told you, I have it handled.”
“Tell me exactly what that piece of shit did to you.”
I hesitated. But there was no point in lying now. He’d seen the bruise. He knew.
“He showed up unexpectedly. At my place.” I kept my voice steady. Clinical. “When I told him to leave, when I made it clear that I never wanted to see him again, he?—”
“He hit you.”
