Matilda's pov

Sleep would not come. In the moonlight, I lay in bed contemplating the sleepy plastered ceiling. My head was hurting, but it was uncomfortable.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Michael's face as it had been before—the constriction of his jaw, the sharp bite to my wrist, the upward gaze of his eyes.

Yes, anger. Possession maybe. Something deeper, concealed by shadows.

and what he said. I own you.

Long after he had turned away, they continued to reverberate within ...