Emily's Point Of View
As I weave my way toward the kitchen to make breakfast, a sudden urge pulls me back to check on Peter. The drama of last night lingers in my mind, and I can't shake the feeling that he’s in for a rough morning—a massive hangover of awaits him.
The morning sun spills through the curtains, casting its ray upon his face. He's still sleeping. I climb on the bed and sit beside him, staring at him, crossing my arms on my chest. Then his eyelids flicker, and a few moments later, he opens his eyes.
He abruptly sits up and backs off, his back smacking the headboard. "You're scaring me," he exclaims, his voice hoarse and thick.
I must have looked like a ghost. A vengeful one. "Spill it." I command, narrowing my eyes as I fixate on him.
"What?" he rasps, squinting his eye
