Serena stirred slowly beneath the blanket, her head still heavy and her throat dry. She hadn’t expected to return home after such a chaotic night. But what surprised her the most was the sight at the foot of the bed.

Hunter Jackson stood there, holding a tray with a steaming bowl of porridge and a cup of warm tea. His hair was slightly tousled, and he wore casual home clothes, but his expression was calm—and oddly gentle.

Serena blinked. “Am I still drunk or is this real?”

Hunter set the tray down on the bedside table. “It’s real. Get up and eat. I know your head must be pounding after...