The next morning, Dahlia woke to find herself lying comfortably in the bed rather than on the sofa where she had fallen asleep. Her brows furrowed as she propped herself up on her elbows. "Sullivan must have brought me here," she murmured with the faintest hint of surprise in her voice.
As her mind drifted back to the events of the previous night, a question lingered. 'Did he truly believe me?' she wondered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. Her eyes moved instinctively toward it and landed on Sullivan, who entered carrying a tray. The sight was unexpected, almost jarring.
"Good morning, Dahlia," he greeted warmly, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I've brought chamomile tea for you. I'm glad you woke up on your own before I had the chance to wake you." He placed the tray gently on the bedside table, his movements uncharacteristically considerate.
