Viona's POV
After uttering that unsettling as you wish, Rafael reminded me it was time to dress his wounds.
I immediately fetched the ointment and bandaging tools from the bedroom, and when I returned, he was already waiting on the sofa, patting the empty space beside him.
I frowned, giving a lazy look at his smug smile, then sat down and played the nurse role.
Even though I felt slightly relieved by the control I'd gained from his validation, deep down I knew I was still letting myself be slowly captured by his arrogance.
Because beneath that rigid arrogance and the dangerous obsession he threw so casually, I knew there was a softer version of Rafael hiding underneath.
He became cold and closed off when his grandmother died at thirteen, only months after his mother passed, and a year after his father's death.
Rafael was a walking pile of cumulative childhood trauma.
He used to be a bright, genius kid, cheerful, laughing freely when watching circus performances.
