Sienna slowly opened her eyes, her head pounding with every beat of her heart. The soft sunlight filtering through the curtains felt like needles against her eyelids. She groaned and pressed the pillow tighter against her face, hoping to block out the light—and the world.
“Fuck,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse and dry like sandpaper.
The bed beside her was empty, but the sheets still carried warmth. Damian had only just gotten up. His scent still lingered faintly on the pillow, a mix of his cologne and something that was just uniquely him—comforting, familiar, intoxicating.
She winced as she forced herself into a sitting position. Her entire body ached, like she’d been hit by a truck. Her legs were sore, her back stiff, and her stomach churned with queasy unease. She regretted every shot she took the night before.
“Never again,” she mumbled, dragging a hand down her face.