OLIVIA The first thing I felt was the vibration. It wasn't the violent, bone-shaking rattle of a storm, but a low, rhythmic purr that seemed to hum right through the mattress and into my skin. It took a moment for my brain to catch up—to remember that I wasn't in my cold, isolated suite in the Alps, and I wasn't a prisoner of the Dawson name anymore. I shifted against the silk sheets, the fabric cool and decadent, and realized I was warm. Intensely warm. I looked up, squinting against the soft amber light of the cabin, and found myself staring into a pair of eyes that had haunted my every dream for half a decade. Adrian wasn't sleeping. He was propped up on one elbow, his silhouette dark against the plush headboard, watching me with an expression so fierce and tender it made my breath hitch. "Morning, darling," he whispered. His voice was raspy, thick with sleep but laced with that new, velvet authority. I smiled at him, a slow, sleepy stretch of my lips. "We’re still in the
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