Dreaming

Amelie’s POV

I woke up to the kind of sunlight that slips under your skin—warm, quiet, and just a little too perfect.

It slanted through the heavy curtains in pale gold ribbons, softening the edges of my room and making everything look slightly unreal—like I’d woken up inside a painting instead of a mafia estate with three dangerous, annoyingly attentive men.

My body ached in the way that healing bodies do—quiet, dull, manageable. But my chest… it was weightless.

I didn’t even realize I’d been smiling until the door creaked open.

I froze.

Whoever it was, they were trying to be quiet. The hinges groaned a little, followed by the shuffle of careful footsteps.

I shut my eyes again.

Just enough to pretend I was still asleep.

There was the soft clink of porcelain and a subtle thud as something was placed on the bedside table. I could smell it before I even opened my eyes—coffee. My exact roast. Sweet with a touch of cinnamon.

I cracked one eye open just enough to peek.

There was a tray bes