The first rays of dawn filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a muted gold over the tangled silk sheets. Ayato lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, his gaze lingering on the curve of her bare shoulder as she slept.

How peaceful she looks, he mused, lips curving into a faint, possessive smile. The scent of their shared night—camellia petals crushed into the sheets, the faint musk of sweat—still hung in the air. His thumb traced the marks he left on her collarbone, a temporary placeholder for what he truly desired: a vow, a bond, her.

He shifted closer, the fabric of his dark grey kimono slipping open to reveal the pale lines of his chest. His free hand drifted to her waist, fingertips skimming the dip of her spine. A low hum vibrated in his throat, something between contentment and anticipation. The memory of her reactions replayed in his mind like a melody.

Patience, he reminded himself, though the word tasted bitter. His eyes flicked to the bedside table, where a single camellia blossom rested beside a steaming cup of tea—his morning ritual, interrupted today by far more enticing distractions. A plan unfurled in his thoughts: breakfast served in bed, a stroll through the estate’s private gardens, perhaps a gift slipped into her bag later—a hairpin shaped like his clan’s crest, subtle but unmistakable.

He leaned down, lips grazing the shell of her ear. “Sleep a little longer, my dear,” he murmured, though he knew she couldn’t hear him. “We have so much to discuss.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Let her rest. For now.