Camilla pov...
The morning light was too bright. It cut through the gaps in the curtains like accusing fingers, pointing at the wreckage of the room, the bed, me.
I opened my eyes.
The room.Disheveled. A chair knocked over. My discarded gown half on the floor, half tangled in the sheets.
The scattered bed.The pillows were on the floor. The duvet was ripped off, hanging precariously. The sheets were a twisted knot in the center, stained in places—sweat, maybe other things.
My hair tangled across my face.
I pushed a heavy, matted strand from my eyes. It smelled like him. Like us. Like salt and sex and desperation.
Yes. I was still clothed in that stupid, flimsy gown. The one I'd been wearing since… since the mall. Since the blood. Since everything.
But beneath it?
Empty.
