Chapter 412

With a sharp rip, the sound of tearing fabric filled the room. Finnian had torn her blouse. Tears streamed from Amara’s eyes. She opened her mouth to scream, but it only gave him the opening he sought.

The bastard. Had he lost his mind? A tear slid from the corner of her eye as she bit down hard on his lip. The metallic taste of blood filled their mouths, but he still wouldn’t let go. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. He was drunk.

She flailed her arms, and her hand closed around a hard, decorative object on the nightstand. Without a second thought, she swung it at his head.

With a heavy thud, the man collapsed onto the floor. Amara scrambled off the bed, clutching her torn clothes, and fled the room, tears streaming down her face.

The blow from the pyramid-shaped paperweight had cracked Finnian’s head and shocked him back to sobriety. He sat on the floor, staring at the rumpled sheets, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. The reality of what he had just done to Amara crashed down on him, and his eyes widened in horror.

He had just tried to force himself on her.

In that moment, a crushing guilt seized him. He wanted to hit himself. He staggered out of the bedroom, but Amara was gone. Where had she gone? Her phone and jacket were still on the sofa. Had she run out without a coat, without her phone? This was an unfamiliar neighborhood for her. Where could she have gone?

Filled with remorse, Finnian grabbed her jacket and his keys and ran out of the apartment. It was early winter, and the temperature in Wye at night was barely above freezing. He had run out in such a hurry that he was only wearing a shirt thin trousers and slippers, a stark contrast to his usual polished appearance. The moment he stepped outside, a blast of cold wind hit him, raising goosebumps on his skin despite his good physical condition. The thought that Amara had run out into this biting cold wearing even less filled him with a gnawing anxiety.

He couldn’t call her, but he reasoned she couldn’t have gone far. He began to search the complex. It was a high-end development with only sixteen buildings, but the grounds were expansive, with wide paths and large gaps between the buildings, making the search difficult. Thankfully the complex was well-fit Finnian checked every building, every path, leaving no corner unsearched.

About ten minutes later, as he neared the south gate, he saw a small, forlorn figure huddled by the entrance. She was hugging her knees, her face buried in her lap, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

A pain, sharp as a knife, sliced through Finnian’s heart. He ran to her, shook out the jacket he was carrying, and squatted down to wrap it around her shoulders.

Amara looked up. When she saw who it was, her tear-filled eyes widened in pure, unadulterated terror.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, instinctively pushing him away.

Finnian knew she must hate him, must be terrified of him, after what had just happened. He didn’t try t touch her again. “I was wrong, he said, his voice soft. “I was drunk. I’m sober now. Please don’t be afraid. Let me take you home p>