The following morning, Lilith woke first.
The soft gray light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. The fire had burned down to embers, and the air carried a faint chill. Gabriel lay beside her, his golden hair spread across the pillow, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep.
Lilith watched him for a moment, her crimson eyes soft with affection. Then, with a silent smile, she slipped out of bed.
She dressed quickly in a warm sweater and leggings, her bare feet padding softly across the wooden floor. She left the suite and made her way down to the hotel kitchen, where the staff were already preparing for the day.
The head chef—a plump, rosy-cheeked woman with flour on her apron—looked up in surprise.
"Can I help you, miss?"
"I'd like to borrow your kitchen," Lilith said, her voice polite but firm. "I want to prepare breakfast for my husband."
