Sunday arrived gently — warm sunlight spilling across the curtains, a breeze brushing against soft blankets, birds chirping somewhere outside the window. It was the kind of morning that practically begged someone to stay in bed and do nothing at all.
Fortunately, Mio needed no convincing.
She was still curled under her blanket at 10:45 AM, hair messy, cheeks soft with sleep, and expression entirely peaceful. Her breathing rose and fell in a slow, exhausted rhythm.
Yesterday had absolutely destroyed her.
Trying on glamorous gown after glamorous gown, standing under bright dressing room lights, being scrutinized by Claude's overly sparkling eyes as he praised every outfit she wore — it had drained every drop of energy she possessed. And last night, she had collapsed into bed without a single word.
Claude, meanwhile, was the complete opposite.
