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was never used to help. No one really cared enough to do so. But when she cried, he held her. Comforted her. Helped stop her panic attack.

And she didn't even know what a panic attack felt like until that day. She was always afraid of what would happen if she ever experienced it. The ideas in her mind included her having to take care of herself.

But someone helped.

And she was shocked to say the least. When Maddox Lohan, a name that sent shivers down most people's spine, was the one holding her.

Calming her down.

Wide-eyed, she remembered herself immediately pushing herself away from him while whispering his name.

And the look in his eyes was terrifying.

He was hurt.

That upon seeing his face, someone he had attempted to take care of, hurried to move away from him.

But he masked his emotions quickly. Instead, he looked over her small frame. Noticing the thinness of the torn shirt she wore, he got up and brought one of his shirts for her to wear knowing she was probably freezing.

"Here," he said thrusting it towards her.

Staring at it and back at him, she tilted her head in confusion.

Sighing, he motioned for her to change. A small gasp left her lips at that suggestion.

Realizing what his idea sounded like, he rushed to fix the tiny miscommunication.

"No no. I'll turn around, and you can change okay?"

Nodding her head, he turned around until she quietly whispered.

"It's okay to turn back now," her voice soft and a little hoarse as if she barely used it.

Looking at his shirt on her, an emotion he's never felt, bubbled up inside him.

Pride. Because for once he felt like he relieved someone from some torture. And no one was ever relieved around him. It's only until he's gone that people let out a long held breath.

Glad he's away.

He stared at her. His eyes narrowed as they fixed upon the bruises and cuts littering her collarbone. His eyes stayed on her.

Her eyes on the other hand, were flickering back and forth. Looking at him and then back at the ground, biting her lip. Her hands were clasped together as she nervously played around with the ring on her right hand.

She looked so familiar. But he would never know what she looked like if she kept her head down like that.

So taking a confident step forward, he lifted her chin up as her eyes went big.

Her breathing seized.

She'd never been touched so much in possibly her whole life.

He scanned her face until recognition came upon him.

"Evelyn Moreau," he murmured with a little surprise flashing through his eyes.

Enamored with his voice, never having heard it before, she nearly fainted. It was naturally seductive. And she was entranced with his looks.

A face with a killer jawline and eyelashes that tickled his high cheekbones, she would never get sick of the sight. He was muscular and his prominent brow bone left a permanent glare on his face. Or maybe it was the fact his eyes showed anger she'd never noticed in anyone else's.

As he stared at her with raised eyebrows, she frowned.

What?

Realizing she's been staring without responding, she flushed.

He knew her name.

Staggering over her words, she attempted to speak.

"Um, I'm sor— I was w—not really—," he shushed her.

It was obvious she was too embarrassed to respond.

Stepping back, he turned around before walking off. Her eyes dropped with disappointment. She started walking towards the entrance of the warehouse, might as well go back home.

It was late anyways.

But he stopped her as his words reached her ears from the other side of the spacious place. "Where are you going?"

Looking back at him, she answered.

"Home?"

But it came off as a question rather than a statement.

Shaking his head, he motioned for her to follow him. Confused and a little in awe, she followed him blindly. Too deep in her thoughts, she bumped into his hard back as he stopped in the doorway of a small room.

A bathroom.

She mumbled an apology as he turned around to look at her. Shrugging, he nodded his head towards the bathroom counter. A little perplexed, she walked over to sit on the counter, figuring that's what he meant.

He walked in front of her holding a first aid kit.

Where'd he get that? she wondered to herself.

Bringing his hand up, he pulled the shirt and her bra strap down her shoulder to expose her collarbone more.

Flinching, she slapped his hand away.

Stopping to look at her, he saw the frown gracing her lips and the fear planted deep in her eyes.

He shook his head before cautiously bringing his hand back up to complete its previous action.

Her eyes followed his hand as he carefully pulled the shirt and bra strap down her shoulder once again and brushed her hair away from the front of her face.

She watched his every move, calculating his motives.

When he brought an antiseptic cotton pad near her injured collarbone however, she calmed down and slightly relaxed.

But she was startled and an unknown emotion crawled it's way to her heart.

He was tending to her pain.

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