The forbidden amare
“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t try to move.”
The voice was soft, soothing, and synonymous to that of an angel. It cut through the fog in my mind like a beacon, guiding me back to the present. Slowly, I turned my head, the movement sending another wave of pain crashing over me. I could finally bring her entire face within my field of view, and I blinked, bringing it into focus.
“Hey, I’m Olivia.”
She was sitting beside me, her expression a mixture of worry and relief. Her hair was a dark bun held up loosely, parts framing her face and escaping. Those emerald eyes—the caricature of green that first ensnared me when I met her—now gazed at me with concern.
Bab Populer