The first thing I registered was the smell.
It wasn't the sterile, cold air of my own apartment, nor was it the sharp, metallic tang of the nightmare that had haunted me for weeks. It was sandalwood, rich espresso, and crisp, high-thread-count linen.
I opened my eyes slowly, the morning sunlight filtering softly through the massive, floor-to-ceiling motorized blinds of William's penthouse master suite. I didn't violently jerk awake. My heart wasn't hammering against my ribs.
For the first time in an entire month, I had actually slept.
A deep, heavy, and uninterrupted sleep that left my limbs feeling warm and completely relaxed.
I shifted slightly against the mountain of plush down pillows, looking down at myself. I was still wearing William's charcoal dress shirt. The hem cascaded loosely over my thighs, and the sleeves were rolled up past my elbows, swallowing my frame in a way that felt entirely like a protective shield.
