The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains, gentle and unhurried, spilling gold across the tangle of sheets where Lilly still slept. Her hair was scattered across the pillow, her breathing calm and steady, a faint smile ghosting her lips. The world outside could have burned, and she would have slept through it, wrapped in the rare peace that had eluded her for weeks.
Mark lay beside her, eyes open, watching her in silence. The night had stripped away every mask, every layer of restraint he'd built around himself. And now, as he studied the quiet rise and fall of her chest, he realized how fragile she looked, yet strong in a way that stirred something unfamiliar inside him.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, careful not to wake her. His thumb traced along her temple, down to her jaw, then stopped just above her collarbone. There were faint marks there, his marks, and something possessive sparked in his chest at the sight.
