Isabella’s POV
The first rays of morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, painting the room in soft, deceptive hues of gold.
I lay frozen beneath the duvet, every muscle aching in the most intimate places. Charlie’s arm was still wrapped heavily across my waist, his warm breath fanning the back of my neck. He was still deeply asleep, his face turned toward me on the pillow.
In sleep, he looked almost... innocent.
The sharp lines of his jaw softened, his dark lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks, and his usually tense brow was relaxed. Strands of his hair fell messily across his forehead.
He looked like the man from my dream—the one who had loved me in the dream, who had seen me. Not the monster who had used my body while whispering my step sister’s name.
Tears well
