Chapter Twenty-Five
Laila’s POV
A pounding headache hammered against the inside of my skull before I even opened my eyes.
My mouth tasted like ash and stale tequila, every muscle in my body aching as if I’d been dragged through gravel. I groaned softly, squeezing my eyes shut against the sharp, disorienting haze of a heavy hangover. But as the fog in my brain began to thin, I realized the mattress beneath me wasn't my thin, lumpy futon. It was soft—unbelievably soft—wrapped in crisp, high-thread-count silk that smelled subtly of rain and cedar.
I opened my eyes, blinking rapidly against the soft morning light filtering into the room.
The bedroom was massive. High ceilings, dark wood paneling, and a sprawling floor-to-ceiling glass wall that looked out over the foggy, sleeping skyline
