Selene woke up in Damian's bed.
Not with him. He'd insisted she take the bed while he slept in the chair by the fireplace. Had given her privacy and space even after she'd broken down completely in his arms.
She'd protested weakly. Said she could go back to the servants' quarters. But he'd refused.
"You've been through trauma. You need rest. Real rest. Not a thin mattress in a crowded bunk where nightmares will find you again."
So she'd taken the bed. Had slept better than she had in weeks. Deep. Dreamless. Safe.
And woke up feeling guilty about it.
Morning light filtered through the windows. Selene sat up slowly, wrapping the blanket around herself. She was still wearing the blanket from last night. Her servant's uniform was folded neatly on a chair. Someone—Damian—had retrieved it from where she'd left it when she shifted.
Damian was awake. Sitting at his desk. Working through documents like always. But he looked tired. Like he hadn't slept much despite giving her the bed.
