OLIVIA
I glanced over at Christian, watching him curiously.
He was deep in his usual morning routine—sipping coffee, standing silently by the floor-to-ceiling window, eyes fixed on the view outside.
Everything about him looked composed. Calm. Normal.
But I could tell something was off.
It started right after dinner last night.
My gaze shifted away from him as memories of the evening came rushing back.
When we'd returned to the suite, he'd suddenly hovered around me, almost too close, his attention focused on my ankle.
"Are you badly hurt?" he'd asked, like he was worried. "Hurt at all?"
The concern in his tone had caught me off guard. Christian didn't do concern.
Still, he'd crouched down and inspected my ankle like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I remembered stari
