The rain tapped faintly against the balcony doors, a soft, relentless rhythm that pulled Charles from the depths of sleep. The room was dark, the air heavy with the lingering scent of Sofia's perfume—jasmine and amber, undercut by something sweeter, more primal, the ghost of desire from the night before. He sat up, the thin silk sheet sliding across his skin as his muscles flexed, taut and ready. His eyes scanned the room, searching for her familiar silhouette, but the bed beside him was empty, the pillow undisturbed.
Sofia was gone.
His chest tightened, not with longing but with a sharp pang of suspicion. She never left without a word, not after the night they'd shared, not after the way she'd whispered secrets to him in the dark—words no one else had dared to speak, promises that had burned into his mind. Her absence was deliberate, a move in a game he hadn't yet fully understood.
