Serena stirred slowly beneath the blanket, her head still heavy and her throat dry. She hadn’t expected to return home after such a chaotic night. But what surprised her the most was the sight at the foot of the bed.
Hunter Jackson stood there, holding a tray with a steaming bowl of porridge and a cup of warm tea. His hair was slightly tousled, and he wore casual home clothes, but his expression was calm—and oddly gentle.
Serena blinked. “Am I still drunk or is this real?”
Hunter set the tray down on the bedside table. “It’s real. Get up and eat. I know your head must be pounding after what you did last night.”
Serena sat up slowly, adjusting the pillows behind her. She looked at the porridge and tea, then at Hunter, frowning.
“Hunter Jackson, did you take the wrong pills this morning
