The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries drifts through the air, stirring me awake. My body feels heavier than usual, weighed down by exhaustion, confusion, and something deeper—something I don't want to name.
For a brief moment, I forget where I am. The bed beneath me is too soft, the sheets too smooth. It's not the stiff mattress of my apartment, not the familiar scent of home.
Then it all comes rushing back.
Michael. The penthouse. Leaving Alex.
A soft knock at the door startles me. Before I can respond, the door eases open, and Michael steps inside, carrying a tray.
"Good morning, sweetheart," he says, his voice like silk, smooth and effortless. "I thought you might like breakfast in bed."
I blink, sitting up as he places the tray in front of me. A steaming cup of coffee, eggs cooked perfectly, and buttery croissants that look like they belong in a Parisian café.
I hesitate, glancing at him. "You didn't have to do this."