I woke up to the smell of ginger tea, which was strange, because I had never once asked for ginger tea in this apartment.
I padded into the kitchen in my pajamas, rubbing my eyes, and found a mug sitting on the counter, still steaming. Beside it, a small plate of dry crackers. Nothing else. No note. No explanation.
I stared at it for a long moment.
Ginger tea and crackers were exactly what I needed after two mornings of nausea. I hadn't told a single person about the nausea except Sofia, and Sofia wasn't the type to sneak into a billionaire's kitchen and leave breakfast.
"Chef made too much," Damian said from the doorway, not looking up from his phone. "Figured it shouldn't go to waste."
"You don't even like ginger tea," I said carefully.
"I don't." He finally glanced up. His face ga
