Waiting outside the police station for Max to emerge, I couldn't help but notice that acrid scent of sulfuric acid on him as he approached, triggering my gag reflex once again. He sniffed himself with a frown of displeasure.

Ronald leaned in for a sniff, too. "Still smells after three washes? I can't catch a whiff. Ms. Floyd, what kind of super nose do you have?"

For some reason, my senses were on high alert today. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, the nauseating smell etched into my very being, which was unforgettable and revolting.

"I'll wash up again," Max decided, leaving, but I started vomiting again by the side.

"It's okay. I've probably just got a bit of a stomach bug," I said.

Feeling the physical toll and the mental strain from witnessing Gabrielle's demise, Claude's indifference, and the sight of a pregnant woman's body drenched in sulfuric acid, I knew I was pushed to my breaking point. Ronald patted my back gently. "Ms. Floyd, maybe you should see a therapist. In my years of police work, it seems the trauma from when Daniel hurt you has left a deep impact."

I stopped retching to look at him. Even Ronald thought I needed professional help.

exhausted today. A bit of rest, and she'll be fine," he

was too dizzy to protest. Not long after

myself at home with Max sitting in my living room, his long legs crossed as he focused

engrossed that he didn't notice me

Richard called and wants to take

left, making me frown slightly. Was he there

he suddenly turned back. "Don't drink

Max stayed to say

can ensure I don't drink. Otherwise, who knows might indulge." I teased him, stepping closer and deliberately brushing against him.

so stern and detached. But in the privacy of my apartment, there seemed to be a different dynamic between us,

pull me close pressing me against the wall with a warning look in his eyes. "Get drunk again, and it won't be

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