A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter thirty seven

Annalise P.O.V

The first thing I noticed when I woke was the weight of my own body, so heavy it felt as though I'd been pinned to the bed by unseen hands. My limbs ached, my throat burned, and my head throbbed with every shallow breath I managed to take. The room around me was blurry, dim, the soft light filtering through the curtains offering no comfort.

"She's waking up!"

The voice was familiar but distant, as though I were hearing it through a pane of glass. My eyelids fluttered, and I turned my head toward the sound. Clara's face came into focus—tears streaked her cheeks, her eyes wide with relief as she leaned over me.

"Ann," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Oh, thank God."

My mouth felt impossibly dry, and when I tried to speak, the words barely came. "What... what happened?"

Clara wiped her eyes quickly and grasped my hand, careful of the bandages I hadn't noticed until now. "The fire," she said softly. "Do you remember?"

The memories came rushing back in jagged pieces: the heat, the suffocating smoke, the sound of screams. And then Max—his voice calling my name, his arms carrying me through the chaos. My heart twisted painfully.

"Max," I rasped, my voice cracking. "Where is Max?"

Clara hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. She looked over her shoulder, and I noticed we weren't alone.

The door creaked open, and my father stepped inside, his face drawn and weary. He stopped in his tracks when our eyes met, his usual stern demeanor melting into something I couldn't quite place. Relief? Regret?

"Annalise," he said gruffly, walking toward the bed.

"Father," I said, my voice still hoarse. "Where's Max?"

He froze, his expression darkening. For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw working as though he were fighting to find the right words.

"Annalise," he began slowly, lowering himself into the chair beside my bed. "You've been unconscious for nearly two weeks. The fire destroyed part of the house—near the kitchen—but the repairs are already underway; almost finished. You're safe now."

He was avoiding the question, and I didn't have the patience for it. "Where is Max?" I repeated, my voice sharper this time, despite its weakness.

His expression hardened, and he looked away, his hands clasped tightly together. "He's gone," he said finally, his tone clipped.

My breath hitched. "What do you mean, gone?"

"He left town," he said, as though that explained everything.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "He wouldn't just leave. Not without telling me."

My father sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "He thought it was for the best, Annalise. For you."

"For me?" I repeated, my voice rising in disbelief. "That doesn't make any sense. He wouldn't do that."

"He didn't want to hold you back," He said firmly, his eyes meeting mine at last. "He said he wanted you to have a fresh start. To move on with your life."

Tears stung my eyes, and I struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through my ribs. "No," I said, my voice breaking. "This isn't right. Something isn't right. Please, just let me see him. Let me find out for myself."

My father's expression grew colder, and he shook his head. "Annalise, listen to me. He's gone. And before he left, he made it clear that this... this situation was too much for him. He said you'd made your peace with it."