Esme - POV
Time drifts by. The meeting must have gone on longer than expected. Fatigue rolls over me in waves as I lie in bed, sleep slowly taking over.
A soft sound stirs me. Through half-lidded eyes, I see Liam—still damp from the shower—walk into the room wearing only pajamas.
"Liam," I say, sitting up suddenly. He freezes at the sound of my voice, his gaze flickering over me. His eyes linger—then quickly turn away.
"Sorry for the wait," he murmurs.
"That meeting ended a while ago, didn't it?" I ask, concern rising as my gaze drops to the angry red gash on his chest, already smeared with ointment. Alarmed, I climb out of bed and close the distance between us, stepping into his space without hesitation.
"Why are you hurt?" My voice is soft, but full of worry. I reach out, gently touching the wound. It's not bleeding, but the skin is raw and bruised. My fingertips graze over it instinctively, but he grabs my hand to stop me.
