Michael’s POV The sunlight spilled into the room like a golden glow, soft and warm on my face. My eyes blinked open slowly. The cotton sheets clung to my skin, warm from a long, dreamless sleep. I stretched lazily, my limbs stiff and heavy, and turned my face toward the window.The sun had fully risen."Shit," I mumbled. Judging by the brightness, it had to be late morning—maybe noon.I stumbled out of bed and dragged myself to the window, lifting the curtain aside to let in the fresh air. A soft breeze rolled in, and with it, the scent of cut grass, earth, and blooming roses. Santiago's estate was beautiful, in a cold, opulent sort of way—structured like an old European villa but infused with a distinctly modern grandeur.Then I saw him.Alan.He stood in the garden, shirtless, a hose in one hand, spraying the rose bushes. His bare chest glistened under the sun. It wasn't just that he was attractive—it was the ease in which he carried himself, calm and confident. I found my
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