Isabella woke to the soft glow of dawn filtering through her bedroom's floor-to-ceiling windows. For a moment, she remained perfectly still, conscious of Liam's arm draped across her waist, his steady breathing warm against her neck. These quiet moments were rare—unguarded, without the careful performances they maintained in public.
She turned slightly, studying his face in repose. Sleep softened his features, erasing the sharp focus and calculation that defined him in the boardroom. A year of clandestine meetings, and still she found herself memorizing the details: the slight crease between his brows, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his dark lashes rested against his cheeks.
Liam stirred, his eyes opening slowly. When he saw her watching him, a sleepy smile spread across his face.
"Morning," he murmured, voice rough with sleep. His hand moved to her hip, thumb tracing idle circles on her skin.
