The morning sun spilled through tall windows, casting warm shafts of gold across the polished stone floor. Dust motes danced in the light, swirling slowly, lazily—as if the very air itself remembered what had happened between them only hours before. The bed behind her was a tangle of sheets and heat. Sienna stood by the window, wrapped in a thin silk robe, her skin still tingling in places where Lucien had touched her like she was something sacred.
He stood just behind her, bare-chested, silent.
Not watching her with hunger—he didn’t need to. His presence alone curled around her like smoke, like memory, like power. He didn’t have to look at her to make her feel seen.
"You should still be resting," he said quietly.
"I couldn’t sleep," she admitted.
He stepped closer, his warmth pressin
