Evelyn woke to soft morning light filtering through the penthouse windows. For a few blissful seconds, she forgot where she was. Then the memories crashed back — the alley, the man’s foul breath, the terror, Damien’s furious rescue.
Her body ached. Bruises bloomed across her arms and cheek. She touched her face gingerly and winced.
A soft knock sounded on her door.
“Come in,” she called weakly.
Lily entered carrying a tray with herbal tea, fresh fruit, and toast. Her kind face was etched with concern.
“How are you feeling, dear?” she asked, setting the tray down.
“Sore,” Evelyn admitted. “But alive.”
Lily fussed over the pillows, helping her sit up. “Mr. Blackwood was up most of the night. He asked me to check on you every hour. He’s in the dining room now… waiting for you.”
Evelyn
