Caitlin’s POV:
The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the overhead lights. The walls were warm-toned, meant to soothe. Dylan’s private suite tucked away in some forgotten part of the city, had been designed to feel like a sanctuary.
But it didn’t.
Not to me.
I sat up slowly, my body still aching in places I didn't understand yet.
My face felt tight, strange, unfamiliar. Bandages still clung to the edges of my jaw and cheekbones, like silk restraints.
I hadn't spoken much since the surgery. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear my voice yet. What if it sounded different too?
Dylan stood at the foot of the bed, his gloved hands precise, his expression unreadable. His posture was careful, almost reverent, like he was handling something sacred. I couldn’t tell if that something was me o
