MADELEINE AUBERT’S POV
I had no idea how long I’d been out, but when I blinked awake, the pale light of early morning was already spilling across the room. My head throbbed, each beat pulsing harder than the last, making me wince and groan. Shifting slowly, I sank deeper into the plush bed, savouring its softness—at least until the ache in my skull came back in full force, as relentless as a hangover storm.
The pounding behind my eyes, the dryness in my mouth, and the sandpaper scrape of my throat were unmistakable. I must have drunk half a bottle, maybe more. I grimaced as I swallowed, each gulp reminding me of why they called it a hangover, as if a dark cloud was hanging over me, refusing to clear.
Trying to remember the night before was like peering through smoke. I couldn’t tell if
