The morning crept softly through the lead-framed windows of the bedroom. Sunlight filtered through the silk curtains, casting golden stripes across the floor, climbing over the clothes draped at the foot of the bed, the soft, fluffy blanket, and finally settling on the face of the woman lying among the pillows. Andromeda blinked slowly, drowsily, her eyelids still heavy with sleep, though her body already sensed the change. The silence was different from the night before. The house still slept. The world demanded nothing yet. And she… was warm. Safe.
Her body woke lazily, stretching—but a moment later something entirely different dawned on her. Her breath caught as she realised her situation. Her back was pressed to the man’s chest, with barely a sliver of space between them. Lucian’s arm
