Ashley woke up feeling… amazing.
It was as if she had just experienced the most restful sleep of her entire life—no nightmares, no stress, no guilt weighing on her chest.
Just peace. Warmth.
Her body still tingled faintly, as if the memories of the previous night refused to leave her skin.
Her eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was him—Ross.
Or rather, Ross wearing Cyril's face. But she didn't know that of course.
He was seated at the edge of the bed, placing a steaming plate of food on the bedside table.
Eggs, toast, meat, a bit of fruit—nothing fancy, but the kind of meal made with care.
The smell alone made her stomach growl in betrayal.
It was only then, as she shifted slightly under the covers, that Ashley realized she was back in her own bed.
She blinked, disoriented.
"Where's Cyril?" she asked softly. Her voice was hoarse from sleep and a little uncertainty.
