EMILY GRAYSON'SThe next morning, I woke slowly. Warm, golden sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting soft patterns across the white sheets and marble floors. For several seconds, I simply lay there, listening to the distant crash of waves against the cliffs below, the soft rustle of curtains dancing in the sea breeze, and the quiet stillness of the villa. It was peaceful. Not the fragile kind that vanished the moment you opened your eyes. Not the kind that came with conditions. Real peace. A smile touched my lips. Then I felt an arm tighten around my waist. I looked down.Alex. Still asleep. Or pretending to be. Honestly, with him, it was impossible to tell. His face looked relaxed against the pillow, dark hair slightly messy from sleep. One arm was wrapped securely around me, possessively, protectively. As though even unconscious, some part of him refused to let me wander too far away. The sight alone warmed my chest. Carefully, I reached up and brushed my f
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