Celestine's POV
I wake slowly, drifting upward through a haze of warmth and the faintest ache in my limbs—the kind that feels earned, not endured. The sheets smell like him. Clean, masculine, familiar. The scent alone brings back the rhythm of last night, the pleasure of it, the way his breath had hitched against my throat just before he gave in each time. Three times. Not rushed, not accidental—three deliberate confirmations of what I already know but enjoy being reminded of. I let the memory unfurl leisurely, a slow stretch beneath the covers as my smile curves without effort. It’s satisfying in a way only Kaelen can be, like sinking your teeth into something rare and expensive and knowing it belongs entirely to you.
The other side of the bed is empty. His pillow is cool. For a second—
