The first thing Hart Matthew noticed was the silence.
Usually, he woke up with a headache, his mind already racing with stock numbers and merger strategies. But this morning, his mind was quiet. His body felt heavy, relaxed, and… warm.
He opened his eyes.
The morning sun was streaming through the sheer curtains of the penthouse living room, bathing everything in a soft golden glow. He glanced at his watch. 7:45 AM.
He had slept for five solid hours.
It was a miracle. A medical impossibility.
Hart shifted slightly, and that's when he realized the source of the warmth.
Eunice wasn't on the floor anymore. Sometime in the night, instinct had taken over. He must have pulled her up, because she was now curled against his side on the wide leather sofa, her head resting comfortably on his chest.
Her hand was still gripping his shirt, her breathing slow and rhythmic.
Hart froze. He didn't push her away. He didn't recoil. Instead, he found himself looking down at her.
In the daylight, she looked even younger. Her eyelashes were long and dark against her pale cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted. She smelled like that calming vanilla scent that had somehow silenced the noise in his head.
She is the cure, Hart thought, the realization hitting him with the force of a physical blow. She is the only thing that works.
Without thinking, he reached up, his large hand hovering over her face. He gently tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. His thumb brushed against the soft skin of her cheek.
Eunice stirred.
Her nose scrunching up, she let out a soft sigh and shifted, burying her face deeper into the crook of his neck. "Mmm... five more minutes, Debby..."
Hart's chest rumbled with a low, involuntary chuckle. "I am not Debby."
Eunice's eyes flew open.
For a second, she stared blankly at the fabric of his white dress shirt. Then, the realization of who was wearing the shirt crashed down on her.
She scrambled backward so fast she nearly fell off the sofa.
"Mr. Matthew!" Eunice gasped, clutching her robe tightly around her. Her face turned a bright, horrified crimson. "I… I am so sorry! I didn't mean to—I fell asleep on the floor, I don't know how I got up here—"
"I pulled you up," Hart said calmly. He sat up, stretching his stiff shoulders, looking unbothered. "You looked uncomfortable."
Eunice stood up, her legs shaking. She was mortified. She had just used the billionaire CEO of Matthew Group as a human pillow.
"I apologize, sir. It won't happen again. I'll go pack my things."
"Wait."
Hart stood up. He towered over her, his presence filling the room. He walked toward her, closing the distance until he was just a foot away.
"You slept well," he observed.
"I... yes, sir."
"And so did I," Hart said, his voice dropping to a serious, intense tone. "For the first time in three years, I slept."
He took another step closer. Eunice backed up until her legs hit the coffee table.
"I have a proposition for you, Eunice."
Eunice's heart hammered against her ribs. A proposition? Does he know about the babies? Does he want—
Before Hart could finish his sentence, the smell of the breakfast cart being rolled into the hallway by room service wafted through the door. It was the smell of bacon and greasy sausages.
The nausea hit Eunice instantly and violently.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes watering.
"Eunice?" Hart frowned, reaching for her arm. "You're pale again."
"Bathroom," she choked out.
She ducked under his arm and sprinted toward the guest suite, slamming the bathroom door shut just in time.
Hart stood alone in the middle of the luxury living room, his hand still suspended in the air. He looked at the closed door, his frown deepening.
She was sick. Again.
He walked over to the landline phone on the desk and dialed a number.
"This is Mr. Matthew," he said when the concierge answered. "Cancel the morning meeting. And get a doctor up to the penthouse. Immediately."