Aryn
I woke up with a pounding in my head and a dryness in my throat like I’d been chewing on sand all night. My body ached in the way it did after restless sleep—twisted, unsatisfying, and heavy like lead. The light seeping in through the tall windows was too warm, too gold, too… unfamiliar.
That’s when I realized something was wrong.
This wasn’t the room I fell asleep in.
The bed was bigger, softer. The walls were a soft cream instead of that cold, grey cement I’d come to hate. The air even smelled different—less like confinement and more like a goddamn spa. I sat up slowly, blinking as I scanned the room. Expensive, stylish, definitely somewhere rich people slept. I hated how much I liked it.
Then I saw it.
A box. Matte black, sleek as hell, tied with a blood-red ribbon. It sat at the end of the bed like a predator waiting for me to open it. There was a note on top of it.
I picked it up, already prepared to roll my eyes, but my heart stuttered at the handwriting. Lorenzo.
Aryn,
I t
