She was so goddamn beautiful I couldn’t even stand to look at her some days. Because I didn’t know what to do with her—to make her scream my name or to punish her for making me feel this way. I needed to back off completely. To leave her alone and let her live her life. Let her have her Vincent Monroe. Because if I touched her again, the deeper this obsession would spread, and I knew where it would end. I’d find some way to keep her. As strong as she liked to appear, she was delicate, flimsy, breakable, and too full of curiosity for her own good. She’d want out, and I’d never let her go.
