CELESTE’S POV
The first thing I felt was the weight in my skull.
Heavy. Pounding. Like someone armed with dumbbells was trying to punch their way out from behind my eyes.
The second thing was panic.
My limbs were tangled in silk sheets. In a bed that wasn’t mine—gigantic, luxurious. Sterile chill from a temperature-controlled suite curled around my skin.
My eyelids felt like they had been welded shut, mascara stiff against skin still tight from dried tears. I forced them open and winced, instantly regretting the action when pain screamed in my skull.
I pushed myself up on weak arms, pressing one hand to my throbbing temple.
I blinked, taking in the room through blurry vision—white ceiling, gold-lit marble, velvet drapes, polished wood.
Confusion, threaded with icy dread, tightened around my insides when my eyes dropped to a towel draped across the chair and recognized the crest.
