Ava’s POV
Morning light spilled soft gold through the tall windows, warming the polished dining table with a gentle glow. I wore my favorite silk spaghetti strap nightdress—thin pale pink, clinging just enough to my curves, sliding cool and smooth against my bare skin with every little shift, whispering over my thighs and brushing my n*****s.
I walked around on my bare feet the cold marble floor. Hair loose, still tangled and messy from sleep, tickling my shoulders and back.
I set the table slow. Two plates gleaming white. Fresh sandwiches—soft bread with creamy avocado spreading smooth, thin slices of smoked salmon salty on my fingers, a sharp squeeze of lemon juice stinging the air. Glasses for fresh orange juice, pulp floating thick, and chilled white wine bubbling faint. Everything
