Noelle POV
The morning light pours into the room like honey—warm, golden, and slow. It paints the ivory walls in soft amber, glinting off the glass chandelier and casting shifting patterns across the carpet. I blink, once, then again, the sunlight coaxing me awake through the delicate curtains.
The room is quiet. Peaceful. Familiar.
I turn to my side, the silk sheets rustling softly beneath me.
There he is.
Thorne.
Asleep on his stomach, one arm curled under the pillow, the other stretched across my side of the bed like he was reaching for me in his dreams.The covers hang low on his hips, exposing the curve of his bare back, the strong lines of his shoulders.
His hair—golden and a bit too long now—spills over his forehead in soft waves. He's started growing a beard, and though I teased him for it at first, I find I've come to love the way it frames his jaw, makes him look like a 'proper father' figure, as he put it.
