Forbidden

Chapter Six

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The next morning arrived swiftly, ushered in by a warm, golden light that streamed through the stained glass window. Rays of crimson, amber, and violet spilled onto the antique carpet, casting a kaleidoscope of shifting hues across the room. The air was still and fragrant, sweetened by the scent of blooming flowers wafting up from the garden below.

Lyra stirred beneath the quilt, a gentle groan escaping her lips as she blinked against the vibrant colors dancing on the ceiling. She rolled onto her side, away from the sunlight's persistent glow, only to freeze when her gaze landed on the door.

Aidan stood there, leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her with quiet intensity.

Her breath caught, and her cheeks bloomed with heat as she pushed herself upright, fingers hastily combing through her tousled hair. She wiped at the corners of her mouth, still not looking away from him.

Aidan's expression softened, a trace of amusement curling at the corners of his lips.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," he said, his voice low and soothing.

Lyra's gaze dropped to the bedspread, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the intricate embroidery. "Were you watching me sleep?" she murmured, her voice caught between curiosity and bashful disbelief.

He chuckled, the sound warm and unbothered. "Of course not," he replied easily. "I was checking to see if you wanted breakfast." He pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room with effortless grace.

Lyra glanced up, eyes narrowing playfully. "Right... breakfast," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "So what are we having?"

Aidan sank onto the edge of the bed beside her, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. He turned to face her, his gaze steady and unreadable.

"I can make a mean omelet," he said, his voice low, confident.

Her eyes lit with amusement. "You cook?" she asked, tilting her head with exaggerated suspicion.

"I know my way around the kitchen," he replied, smirking. Then, leaning in just a little closer, he added in a mock whisper, "And an omelet sounds really good right now, doesn't it?"

Right on cue, Lyra's stomach grumbled, earning a quiet laugh from both of them.

"Alright, fine. I'm convinced," she said with a mock sigh, eyes twinkling.

"I'll get started," he said, standing once more. "Come down whenever you're ready." His voice held a quiet promise as he moved toward the door. He paused just a second before slipping out and gently closing it behind him.

As soon as the latch clicked shut, Lyra dropped back against the pillows with a groan, throwing an arm over her face.

Well, that was embarrassing... she thought, her cheeks still burning—though this time, her lips curled into a smile she couldn't quite shake.

Lyra rose from the bed, stretching like a cat basking in a sunbeam. Her joints gave a satisfying crack as she moved, the golden morning light warming her skin. She scanned the room until her eyes landed on a door slightly ajar—a bathroom.

Inside, the soft glow of sunlight bounced off a golden vanity mirror, casting a gentle shimmer across the Victorian-style countertop, its rich, golden-brown tones gleaming under the morning light. Lyra leaned closer, studying her reflection. She looked a little disheveled, sure—but somehow, more rested than she had in weeks. Maybe months. Night shifts at the hospital rarely left her with anything close to real sleep. This, though... this had been different.