Morning arrived without warning.
No alarms. No urgent calls. No sharp intake of breath that usually came with waking beside Charles—wondering which version of him she would meet.
Victoria opened her eyes slowly.
Light filtered through the sheer curtains, pale and gold, settling across the bed like something tentative. Charles lay behind her, his arm curved loosely around her waist, not trapping—just present. His breathing was even, careful, as if he’d trained himself to sleep without claiming space.
She stayed still, listening.
For the first time in years, nothing felt like it was about to break.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
She turned slightly. “Did I wake you?”
“I don’t think I ever really slept,” he admitted. “I just… rested.”
She studied his face up clo
