Melissa was out cold.
Sprawled across the emperor-sized bed like a starfish that had given up on life, silk sheets tangled around her legs, one arm flung dramatically over her face. The woman who'd spent ten years making his life hell was now snoring softly into a pillow that probably cost more than his entire previous wardrobe.
Dragon's Rod strikes again.
Phei slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her. His body ached in that satisfying way that said he'd pushed it hard—the swimming, the sex, the general chaos of the past forty-eight hours catching up with him.
But sleep could wait. There was something he needed to do first.
He padded barefoot across the dark polished concrete, past the floating fireplace with its dancing flames behind black glass, and made his way down the spiral staircase to the second floor.
The study door clicked open like a vault welcoming its master.
Command center.
