She had intended to pack her things, but for a moment, she didn't even know where to begin. Suddenly, the sound of the front door unlocking echoed from the entryway.
Preston's towering figure stepped inside. He took in the fully lit house before finally finding Chloe in the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Still afraid of the dark, even at your age?"
His clean, masculine scent was tainted with the sickly sweet smell of a woman's perfume. Chloe's stomach churned. She pushed him away coldly. "Let go. Unless you want me to throw up on you."
Preston chuckled softly. "Throw up? We haven't exactly slept together recently." His voice dropped to a husky murmur. "Or are you dropping a hint?"
His large hand rested on her lower back, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles before slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, trailing upwards.
"Creep!" Chloe lashed out, aiming a fierce kick at him, but he easily caught her ankle and gave it a light tug.
She instantly lost her balance and crashed hard against his solid chest. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through the bruises covering her body, and she let out a sharp gasp.
Preston's brows knit together. He steadied her. "What's wrong?"
Chloe shoved him away. "None of your business."
His expression darkened. Without another word, he scooped her up into his arms, carrying her effortlessly to the living room, and set her down on the sofa.
"Let me go! Get off!" Chloe struggled wildly.
But he easily pinned both her wrists above her head with one hand, using his free hand to pull up her shirt. The next second, the violent, mottled array of dark bruises across her skin was fully exposed to his gaze.
Preston's usually impassive, handsome face turned terrifyingly grim. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet, the sheer dominance radiating from him almost suffocating.
"Who did this?" he demanded, barely suppressing his fury. "Wallace said someone was chasing you. Was it them? Why didn't you tell me?"


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