Adele's POV

I pushed open the door to my room and stopped dead.

The scent hit me first—warm buttered toast, fresh strawberries, and the dark, smoky bite of coffee. A silver tray sat on the little table beside my bed, steam curling from the cup like it had only just been set down. And there, perched on the edge of the mattress like he belonged there, was Lucien.

My mate.

He was dressed in a black shirt with few buttons open, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, dark hair messy like he’d dragged his hands through it a hundred times. The morning light cut across his sharp cheekbones and made...