[Meredith].
Today, I wanted calm, not glamour. So, I reached for the powder, dusted it lightly across my cheeks, then traced a line of nude lipstick over my lips.
When I leaned back, the effect was soft, almost serene.
My long silver hair hung loose down my back. I gathered it up, twisted it into a messy updo, and pinned it in place, a few strands escaping to frame my face.
A faint smile tugged at my lips—it was imperfect, but I liked it that way.
Next came the perfume: a hint of strawberry misted at my pulse. Then, from the jewellery shelf, I picked a gold wristwatch and a pair of tiny full-stop earrings.
As I clasped the watch around my wrist and raised the first earring, the sound of the door opening reached me.
I looked up—and there he was.
Draven stood in the doorway, a towel knotted loosely around his waist, his hair damp and tousled from the shower. Droplets still clung to his collarbone, catching the morning light.
