Aria Snow pov :
The bed was too soft.
I woke up expecting the familiar squeak of my old mattress springs, or the comforting smell of bacon frying in my mother’s kitchen. Instead, I was engulfed in a cloud of Egyptian cotton sheets that probably cost more than my father’s car. The air smelled of lavender, expensive wood polish, and faintly of ozone.
I opened my eyes and stared at the vaulted ceiling.
The Rose Room.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the intricate floral wallpaper and the massive mahogany wardrobe. It was a room fit for a princess.
Or a prisoner, a small voice in my head whispered.
I pushed the heavy duvet back and walked barefoot to the balcony doors. I checked the lock. Still engaged. I checked the window latches. Secure. I
