34 WHO IS HE?

He had been so occupied with his thoughts that he had forgotten about his scars and taken off his shirt in front of her. “That is none of your business,” he spat, his grip on her wrist tightening. She searched his eyes, but all she could see was anger and an emotion she couldn't decipher. “Davis, you can—” “I said it's nothing,” he hissed. She winced when his grip on her wrist further tightened. “You’re hurting me, Davis.” He immediately let go of her arm and wore his shirt. “You didn't see anything tonight,” he told her as he grabbed a shirt and shorts from the closet, “And I apologize for hurting you,” he said and without waiting for her response, scampered into the bathroom. She rubbed her now red wrist as she stared after him. “I probably shouldn't have touched him,” she muttered with a sigh as she changed into her nightwear and sat at the edge of the bed. Who exactly is Davis Solorante? She wondered as she stared at the bathroom door. She looked away when