Elara
I woke before dawn.
The sun hadn’t even kissed the horizon yet, but I was already sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at my reflection in the cracked vanity mirror. Dorian’s snores rumbled softly behind me, each rise and fall of his chest reminding me of the trap I lay in.
My fingers shook as I dabbed concealer under my eyes, trying to hide the purpling bruise from two nights ago that has refused to heal. It hurt to touch, even with the soft sponge, but I didn’t wince. I couldn’t afford to leave it exposed. Not today.
I swallowed thickly, clutching my phone in my lap. For ten minutes, I just sat there, debating.
He would wake soon. He always woke early to check my messages, my calls, my notifications. If he saw today’s destination in my calendar, he would drag me back by the
