The master bathroom was a sprawling sanctuary of imported black marble, currently completely swallowed by a thick, suffocating cloud of white steam.
Aria rushed through the door, completely bare, clutching her velvet pouch of silver acupuncture needles like a lifeline.
Through the dense fog, she spotted Damien. He was lying back in the massive, freestanding soaking tub in the center of the room. The water level was high, covering his chest. A thick white hand towel was folded over his eyes, shielding them from the harsh vanity lights.
He was completely still, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. He had already scrubbed his face entirely clean of the sallow, sickly foundation the Devereaux twins had plastered on him.
Aria set the velvet pouch down on the small marble side table next to the tub.
