Third Person
Reid woke with a headache pounding behind his eyes like a war drum. The sheets tangled around his legs were unfamiliar—softer than what he was used to. The air smelled like sweat and perfume that wasn’t his mate’s.
And then he felt it. Warmth beside him. The subtle shift of weight on the mattress.
His stomach dropped.
He turned his head slowly, painfully, and saw her. Chloe.
She was sitting upright against the headboard in his shirt, her bare legs folded neatly beneath her, a porcelain teacup balanced in her manicured fingers.
She was already made up, hair pinned, skin glowing like this was just another morning.
He sat up too quickly and nearly threw up.
“What the f**k did you do?” he rasped, voice raw.
She didn’t blink. “You drank the wrong glass.”
“What does that
