The light that filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the penthouse suite was a soft, filtered gold, casting a warm glow over the expanse of the bedroom. It was the kind of morning that felt suspended in time, where the world outside—with its frantic pace and endless noise—seemed a million miles away. For Mirae, waking up felt like surfacing from a deep, tranquil ocean.
She shifted slightly, the silk sheets sliding against her skin, and felt the steady, comforting warmth of Joon-ho beside her. For the first time in weeks, the oppressive weight that usually settled behind her eyes upon waking was gone. The piercing, stabbing headaches that had plagued her—the ones that made her feel as if her skull were being tightened by a vice—had completely vanished. In their place was a profound sense of clarity and a lightness of being that she hadn't experienced in years.
