Ariel woke slowly, drifting out of sleep like someone rising through warm water.
Soft light from the chandelier spilled across the linens, scattering over her skin in gentle waves. The air felt warm. Quiet. Almost unreal.
Then she realized she was already dressed in her nightwear.
Horace had dressed her.
Which meant he had washed her… tended to her… cared for her while she slept.
Heat climbed instantly to her cheeks.
Memories surged back in slow, breath-stealing fragments — his hands, his voice, the way he held her as though she were the last delicate thing left in the world, the way he whispered her name like prayer and possession blended into one. Her heart fluttered violently, and she pressed a hand to her chest as if she could steady the chaos inside it.
She stretched carefully, wincing at the soft ache blooming through her muscles — the unmistakable reminder that she had been loved so thoroughly her entire being still hummed with the echo of him.
