Serena Stanton woke up from a deep dream, her mind a blank slate.
She sat up in a daze, her first instinct was to look up at the IV bag.
But the space around her was empty, the IV nowhere to be found, and she didn't even know when the needle had been removed from the back of her hand.
She was supposed to be at the infusion clinic, but she had no idea how long she'd been asleep on the hospital bed.
Serena rubbed her face. That groggy exhaustion from the fever had vanished, leaving her feeling refreshed and light.
There was a faint noise at the door. She lifted her eyes toward it.
The first thing she saw was a pair of long, straight legs wrapped in jet-black suit pants, then a trim, taut waist, and above that, broad, strong shoulders.
Even after spending the whole night in the hospital, the man's clothes were immaculate—undeniably the center of attention, born of privilege.
