Sylvain stirred awake the next morning, his body aching in places he didn't want to acknowledge. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his phone. It was already past ten.
He had slept late again.
Panic flared in his chest as fragments of the previous night flooded back — the pain, the intensity, the way Silas had taken him without mercy.
He quickly got out of bed, threw on a simple shirt and pants, and rushed out of the guest room, heart pounding with dread at what Silas might say about his oversleeping.
The moment he stepped into the dining area, he froze in place.
Silas was already seated at the long table, dressed in a black suit that made him look every inch the powerful businessman ready for the day.
