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AUTHOR’S POV
The breakfast hall of the resort was bathed in soft golden light, the early morning sun filtering through the wide, open windows.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee, buttered toast, and eggs lingered in the air, mixing with the subtle tang of the sea breeze that drifted in from the shore beyond the terrace.
Guests were scattered throughout the space, some engaged in quiet conversations, others lazily flipping through newspapers or staring into their steaming cups of coffee. The atmosphere was relaxed—everywhere except at Sloane’s table.
Sloane sat slumped in her chair, her elbows resting on the polished wooden table, chin propped against her palm.
She was still half-asleep, her eyelids heavy as she stirred her untouched cappuccino with lazy circles of the spoo
