<h4>Chapter 230: Chapter 230 A Scream In The Morning 1</h4>


    Cecilia’s pov


    I woke slowly, my head fuzzy and pounding just enough to make me hate myself.


    The ceiling above me wasn’t familiar.


    This wasn’t my room.


    Panic red, sharp and immediate.


    Before I could do more than grip the sheets tighter, I heard footsteps.


    I turned my head--and nearly choked.


    Sebastian stepped out of the walk-in closet, fully dressed in a deep navy three-piece suit that looked like it had been tailored by a god and paid for in blood.


    He looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ, not in the same room as me--bed-headed, hungover, and very much wearing nothing but a robe.


    Wait.


    Scratch that. I was the one in the robe.


    A thick, plush hotel-grade one that definitely wasn’t mine.


    "...Morning," I croaked, my voice embarrassingly rough.


    "Morning," he replied, calm as ever.


    "You got drunk at the partyst night. Then threw up in your room. I moved you here--yours needed a, let’s say, biohazard-level cleaning."


    I blinked. Twice. My brain was still slogging through msses.


    "Oh. Right. Great."


    He nodded toward the closet. "Your clothes are in the dressing room."


    I nodded back, slow and mechanical, like someone who had absolutely no memory of agreeing to be moved.


    Things had been tense between us when we partedst night. And now... this?


    Me, in his robe. In his bed. In his room.


    He studied me for a beat--me, half-sitting in his bed, swamped in his robe like I was starring in a post-scandal tabloid photo shoot.


    "If you’re still feeling rough, take the day off."


    "No need," I said way too fast. "I’m good. Totally fine."


    "Alright." He adjusted his cufflinks. "I’ll head out first. Take your time."


    "Yeah. Sure. Yep. Will do." I nodded like a bobblehead on a bumpy road.


    Only after I heard the door click shut did I exhale loudly.


    The kind of exhale thates when your soul tries to re-enter your body after momentary flight.


    What the actual hell happened?


    I sat up slowly, head still swimming, and then--


    The robe shifted.


    I froze.


    I was naked under it.


    As in,pletely, no-underwear, no-bra, no-hope naked.


    My heart tried to punch its way out of my chest.


    Did we...?


    No. That couldn’t be.


    I didn’t feel sore, or wrecked, or that deliciously ruined feeling from our usual recklessness.


    So why had he undressed me?


    Or worse--who had?


    I yanked the robe tighter, like I could cinch it around my dignity.


    Bits and pieces started toe back--herbal broth, imaginary snacks...


    And then--


    Oh God.


    Oh no.


    OH. MY. GOD.


    The next ten minutes were spent reliving every mortifying detail in excruciating high-definition--feeding him imaginary food, pulling his hair, throwing up on him, making him give me a bath, and then... that kiss.


    Those kisses.


    The kind that melt your spine and short-circuit your brain. The kind romance novels warn you about because they lead to very bad, very naked decisions.


    And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, I’d begged him to stay.


    Like, stay-stay. Like, "make bad decisions with me" stay.


    And he had.With his hands.With his mouth.


    I face-nted into the pillow and groaned like a dying animal.My soul was trying to exit my body out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.


    Who even says "I have treats for you" like they’re offering themselves as dessert?


    I’d propositioned him like a drunk roon, and he’d responded with... devastating patience.


    I stared at the ceiling like it might erase the past ten hours.


    Maybe I could fake amnesia.


    Yes. Alcohol-induced memory loss. Totally usible.


    If I yed it cool and acted like I didn’t remember a damn thing, there was a chance I’d survive this.


    The invincible Cecilia Moore pulled herself together.


    I climbed out of bed, still wrapped in the nket like a traumatized burrito, and shuffled to the dressing room to find my clothes.


    Then I spotted the drawer.


    The one where Sebastian had arranged my underwear by color gradient.


    My brain instantly shed back to the moment I’d grabbed his hand, breathless, demanding he not stop.


    And then--asking for more.


    I stood there like a statue while my reflection mocked me from the vanity mirror.


    "It’s fine," I muttered to myself. "We’re... familiar. It’s not a big deal. Totally survivable."


    I got dressed quickly, deliberately messing up his perfectly organized drawer on my way out -- a petty revenge for emotional damage.


    Downstairs, I was thest to arrive.


    The breakfast table was unusually full.


    Sebastian had already finished eating but lingered behind a newspaper.


    Sawyer and Tang were still eating.


    "Morning," I greeted, trying to sound like a functioning adult and not a walking ball of shame.


    I slid into my seat like a criminal into a courtroom, eyes firmly glued to my te.


    The toast in front of me became my entire personality. If I stared hard enough, maybe it would transport me to another dimension.


    "Cecilia!" Tang beamed, scooting his chair dramatically closer.


    Too close. Dangerously close.


    "Do you want a baby?"


    "--Cough!--" I choked violently on my coffee, nearlyunching it out my nose.


    I looked up, ready to shut that nonsense down with the full force of denial--


    only to find Tang staring at me with bright, terrifying sincerity.


    Before I could recover, he added cheerfully,


    "Alpha Sebastian wants a baby too, right? Maybe you two should just--team up!"


    There was a long, stunned pause.


    Across the table, I heard Sawyer’s spoon tter against his bowl like a gunshot.