Without giving him another glance, I walked past him down the hall. But I could feel him behind me—his rage was almost tangible. His footsteps were heavy, angry, echoing threateningly on the wood. He followed me. Of course he did.

As soon as I entered the room, I crossed my arms and waited. Seconds later, the door slammed shut behind him, far too loud for it to be a coincidence.

My heart was racing, but not out of fear. I was angry. Angry at him. Angry at myself. Angry at this damn mess between us.

"I'm a free woman!" I snarled, my gaze boring into his. "I can talk to...