Lucian opened his eyes the next morning, and the very first thing that struck him as odd was the ceiling above him. It wasn't his. There was no mirror installed above the bed, no polished reflection staring right back at him the moment he regained consciousness. And that alone was all the reminder he needed—that he wasn't in his room.
He was in Serena's.
His chest rose and fell in a silent breath, and for a moment, he just lay there, motionless, letting the truth of where he was sink in fully. The events of the night before came crashing through his mind, each one bringing a different rush of heat to his skin. He blinked slowly, resisting the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. If he wouldn't lie to himself—and he rarely did—then last night had been one of the best nights of his life.
A sharp contrast to the cold, calculated life he had grown so used to living.
