𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 [18+]

- 39 -

I stir slowly, the world returning to me in a lazy haze of warmth and softness. My body stretches against the plush mattress, the sheets cool beneath my skin.

I blinked, adjusting to the dim lighting of Val's bedroom. The space is still, untouched as if frozen in time. Gunner's warm body is sprawled beside me, his massive frame curled up like he owns the damn bed. His chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths.

I run a hand through my hair, pushing it out of my face, my mind still foggy. How long had I been asleep? Hours? A full night?

Shifting onto my side, I take in the space beside me. Val's side of the bed is cold. He's not here. I push myself up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as Gunner stirs beside me, letting out a deep, lazy huff but making no effort to move. Typical. The traitor will cuddle me for hours, but when it comes to being useful? Not a chance.

I glance at the time—10:30 PM. I got here at, what? Four? I run a frustrated hand through my hair, gripping my scalp as reality settles like a lead weight in my chest. I am so screwed.

I glance down at myself, at the sheets tangled around my legs, and then at the ruined fabric of my clothes still discarded on the floor—shredded by Val's impatient hands hours ago. Heat rises to my face. Right. That happened.

Hell, I bet that motherfucker is playing with me for payback right now.

With a sign, I wrap the blanket around me tighter like a cloak and walk out of the bedroom.

The circular marble staircase is still so chilling against my barefoot as I descend. The house is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that makes the air feel heavy, loaded with something unspoken.

"Val?" I call out, my voice echoing through the grand living room. No response.

"Miss?"

I nearly flinch as I spin around. A plum lady is standing near the kitchen, with an apron tied around her. She has a soft look on her face, her bun slicked back and tightly tied.

I pull the blanket closer to me, suddenly feeling self-conscious - a small smile passes her lips as she notices. Fucking hell. This is her first impression of me.

"Miss Lincoln, would you like me to get you some clothes? It's quite cold here, isn't it?"

I laugh nervously, "Yes, yes please...?"

"Oh pardon, my name is Beatrice - I'm the head chef here. I heard you calling you for Mr. Lawrence." Her face turns red as she quickly explains herself.

"Nice to meet you, Beatrice. I'm Zara Lincoln as you already seem to know. Val's..." My voice trails off, suddenly at a loss of words. "I-I'm—