FREYA CARTER
Someone was knocking on my bedroom door. Soft yet persistent. I groaned and pulled the duvet over my head.
It was too early. Rowan hadn’t come home last night, I was almost certain of it. I had fallen asleep around one, the space beside me untouched and cold.
The knock came again.
“Ma’am?”
I forced my eyes open. “Yes?”
The door creaked open slightly and the housemaid stepped in, her expression polite but firm. “Ma’am, you have a checkup this morning. They are waiting downstairs.”
Checkup?
I pushed myself upright, blinking. “What checkup?”
“For your appointment,” she said carefully, as if I should already know.
My heart gave a small, uneasy thud. “I wasn’t informed of any appointment.”
She hesitated. “Sir arranged it. He is waiting with the guest for you.”
Sir.
Of
