A gentle hand cupped her chin, carefully avoiding the wounds on her face. Then, with a soft grip on her shoulder, it guided her back into a lying position.
Annabelle felt an itch on her face and instinctively reached up to scratch it.
The hand swiftly caught her wrist, and a soothing male voice whispered into her ear, “If you don’t want a scar, don’t scratch.”
Her mind, still foggy from sleep, registered the familiar voice. For a moment, she was bewildered.
Why did it sound like the young master? Was she dreaming about him?
She was too tired to think clearly. The fragments of her memories tangled together like a chaotic whirlpool, pulling her deeper into her slumber. The more she tried to wake up, the further she sank into the dream.
As her breathing slowed into a steady rhythm, Ryan
