The Next Morning

Soft sunlight slipped through the curtains, pale and unhurried.

Aria was half-awake when she smelled coffee.

Real coffee. Not the rushed kind. The kind that lingered.

She turned slightly and froze.

Damian was standing by the bed, dressed casually for once, sleeves rolled, a tray balanced in his hands.

“Good morning,” he said.

Aria pushed herself up on one elbow, blinking. “I thought you’d already gone to work.”

“No,” he said simply. “No work today.”

Her brows knit. “Why?”

He stepped closer and placed the tray gently on the bedside table. Fresh fruit. Toast. Coffee. A single rose tucked neatly beside the cup.

“Because,” he said, meeting...