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Seventy-three
Her heart beat faster as she stared at the man she cared immensely about looking at her like she was a stranger and she had no business being in his room. “Dexter, what do you mean? What’s wrong?” She reached her hand out to touch his arm but he pulled his hand back.
He looked at her with a blank look on his face and scanned her with a etched on his face. “How do you know my name?” He asked her, looking at her a tinge of curiosity and hard, set. A hard, set pair of eyes that she remembered very well back when they first encountered each other.
“Why are acting like this? It’s me, Anelia,” she put her hands over her chest and waited for him to recognise her but his scowl deepened. “You know me, Dexter. I...” he didn’t hide how impatient he was getting as he hissed.
“Don’t patronise me,” he barked, clearly
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