Alexia – POV
Ever since I woke up from that stupid nightmare—or coma, or hell trip, whatever the hell it was—Aiden had been… cold.
I mean, ice-cold.
Which, honestly? I didn't even blame him. Hell, if I were him, I wouldn't want to look at me either. The real surprise? I was still in his house. In his bedroom. Breathing the same air as him.
After everything—after what he found out about me—I expected to wake up chained to a hospital bed with a nurse handing me a manila folder full of divorce papers. Or maybe dumped in some budget clinic with barely a name tag on the wall, like a discarded problem.
But no. I woke up in silk sheets. In a room too perfect for someone like me. With a stupid chandelier and velvet curtains and the faint scent of his cologne still hanging in the air. As if the room remembered him even when he wasn't around.
And that made it worse.
