The morning sunlight spilled softly through the cream-colored curtains, painting the villa bedroom in a golden hue. Dust motes danced in the air, floating lazily as if the world itself had slowed to savor the calm.
And then—Mio stirred.
Her lashes fluttered open, the faint scent of coffee and cedar lingering in the air. The bedsheets were warm, the pillow smelled like him, and her muscles… ached. Not painfully—just enough to make her remember.
Mio groaned quietly and turned to her side, burying her face in the pillow. "Ugh…"
Of course. Of course he'd done it again.
She peeked down at her shoulder, then her collarbone, and let out a sound between a sigh and a helpless laugh. Faint red marks trailed down her skin like mischievous constellations—proof of one man's infuriating lack of restraint.
"Claude Lockheart…" she muttered under her breath, half exasperated, half secretly flustered. "You're unbelievable."
