After an hour or so of drugged oblivion, Alex finally stirred awake, his eyelids heavy as lead fluttering open to the parlor's dim amber glow from the dying wall sconce. The air hung thick with the musky scent of passion and jasmine perfume.
A blinding headache exploded in his skull like shattered mana crystals—he grabbed his head with both hands, fingers digging into silver hair, immense pain lancing through every nerve. He groaned loudly, curling forward. "What the hell… ngh!"
Blinking through the haze, he looked around the opulent room—the heavy velvet curtains drawn tight against the night, four-poster bed a tangled wreck of silk sheets and pillows scattered like battlefield debris, crystal water jug tipped over on the marble sideboard, a faint iridescent sheen dried on its rim.
But Evelyn was gone—no golden hair lady beside him, no gown pooled on the floor.
Empty.
