Aria woke up to the sound of crashing waves and the smell of extremely expensive coffee.
She blinked, disoriented. The ceiling above her was glass, revealing a grey, overcast sky. For a second, she panicked, thinking she was back in the asylum, exposed to the elements.
Then she felt the leather of the sofa beneath her cheek and the heavy warmth of a suit jacket draped over her body.
Memory returned in a flush of heat. The safe house. The sensory overload. The... treatment.
Aria sat up abruptly, clutching the jacket to her chest. Her blouse was buttoned (thank god), but her hair felt like a bird's nest, and her lips were tender.
"You're awake."
She spun around.
Damien stood in the open-plan kitchen, leaning against a marble island that probably cost more than her entire education. He was holding a mug of coffee.
He was shirtless. Again.
