At four in the morning, Charlotte Shaw shot up in bed.
Felix Preston, who hadn't been sleeping soundly anyway, sat up the moment she moved.
"What's wrong?" Felix straightened the collar of her askew pajamas and touched her cheek. "Did you have another nightmare?"
"Yeah," Charlotte said, her brow furrowed and her face a little pale. "I dreamed that Willow Quincy wasn't dead, and I was still his prisoner in that villa."
"And then what?" Felix pulled her into his arms, patting her back gently as if soothing a child.
She looked up at Felix, her lost, helpless gaze fixed on his handsome profile.
Felix had just shaved that evening, so the faint stubble on his chin was gone. His face was clean and smooth, and the mere sight of him was enough to put Charlotte at ease.
"Felix, why are you asking what happened next in my nightmare?" she asked, a little confused.
Felix gazed down at her. Without his glasses, his eyes seemed even gentler than usual.
