Clover POV
I woke up feeling like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my skull and then set the pieces on fire. The hotel room spun in lazy circles around me, the cheap curtains doing nothing to block the brutal morning light that stabbed straight into my retinas.
My mouth tasted like regret and bits of whiskey, and every heartbeat sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through my gut. I knew I’d left with someone last night—the ache in my thighs and the faint scent of unfamiliar perfume on the sheets told me that much, but the details stayed stubbornly out of reach.
My smaller senses, though, were screaming that it was Cameroon. That same reckless, familiar pull I always regretted. Fury bubbled up fast, hot and bitter, because of course he’d wormed his way back into my life even when I
