Coming down the stairs, Savannah at once saw Dylan drinking coffee on the sofa by the French window.
His figure was glided by the morning sun, looking like a male model in a pose for some glossy high-end magazine.
After a moment of confusion, Savannah's calm face warmed up again as she remembered how he had changed her clothes after bathing her last night.
She didn't know why, though she had given birth to a child for him, she still felt shy and blushed when she knew that he bathed her and changed her clothes for her. Maybe it was because they were more like strangers now.
She decided to go back to her room and come downstairs after he went to work. But Dylan had already seen her.
"Stop!" He called.
Was she afraid that he would scold her after she got herself so drunk last night?
Or was she aware of how tired he was after washing and changing her clothes and felt ashamed?
Savannah paused and turned slowly.
