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The sun filtered through the cream curtains.
Damian sat in the same chair, a mug of black coffee beside him, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his eyes fixed on Elena.
He hadn't slept.
Her fingers twitched first.
Then she stirred, her head turning slightly on the pillow. A small sound left her lips, and finally, her lashes fluttered open.
She blinked, confused, her voice barely a whisper.
"Where…?"
Before she could panic, she heard him — that deep voice, calm but rough, like gravel and silk.
"You're finally awake."
Her eyes widened. "Damian?"
He gave a short nod. "Yeah, it's me."
Her gaze darted around the room — the soft cream walls, the wide windows, the faint scent of coffee.
