25
HANNAH
M
y head swam as I tried to pry my eyes open, but they were so heavy. Eventually, I managed to get them to c***k open. The room was blessedly dark, curtains pulled tight, though a sliver of light filtered through. It was daytime, but where was I?
Something didn’t feel right. This didn’t smell like my lightly perfumed room in the penthouse, where even the expensive fabrics had a scent all their own. And it definitely wasn’t Lucifer’s room with his decadent black silk sheets.
I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. I was in another luxurious bedroom, tastefully done in shades of cream and dusky pink. The enormous room was sparsely furnished, but it had more of a deliberate minimalist vibe than feeling half-finished, and I was struck by the sheer size of the space. If I yelled out
