Chapter 3 - THE GHOST IN THE MORNING
The dawn broke through the floor-to-ceiling windows with a cold, unforgiving gray light. Abini woke with a start, the heavy silk sheets sliding off her bare shoulders. Panic, sharp and metallic, tasted like blood in her mouth. She looked down at the sleeping man beside her. In the quiet morning, Gideon looked boyish, the harsh lines of his jaw relaxed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
She had broken the one rule of survival: remain invisible.
Scrambling out of the bed, Abini gathered her uniform from the plush carpet with trembling hands. She dressed in frantic silence, leaving nothing behind except the faint scent of jasmine soap on the pillows. By the time Gideon woke, his head pounding with a ferocious hangover, the room was empty. He sat up, the memories of the night hitting him in fragmented, heated flashes—dark eyes, soft skin, a touch that had silenced the chaos in his mind. He rang the front desk, his voice a low bark. But there was no record. The supervisor had wiped the night logs to hide an unapproved shift change. The woman who had saved him from himself was gone.
