Lucien woke up the next morning with a slight headache. His body felt weak, like all the strength had drained from him overnight. He groaned softly and rolled onto his back, his hand brushing over his forehead. Something cool and damp was resting there.
He blinked, confused, and slowly removed the cloth. It was a folded handkerchief, damp with water.
“Where did this come from?” he muttered, staring at it.
He was sure—absolutely sure—that he had gone to bed without anything on his forehead. He didn’t even own a handkerchief like this. It looked too clean, too expensive to be his.
“If I didn’t put this here… then who did?” he whispered to himself.
The idea of someone coming into his room while he slept made his stomach twist. His mind quickly jumped to Zayn. But that thought felt ridicu
