The soft rustle of leaves swaying outside your bedroom window mixed with the gentle scent of old books and morning light seeping through the tall panes. You stretched lazily under the covers, surrounded by a sea of pillows and warmth, your body cocooned in soft cotton and the safety of his embrace.

He always found you here. Curled up with a half-read book nestled against your cheek, hair a little wild, skin warm, peaceful. Edward leaned on the frame of the doorway for a second, arms crossed, just watching. The fire in you that took down boardroom predators and financial wolves simmered now in the soft rise and fall of your chest. To him, you were always this duality—sharp as steel when the world tried to mess with your team, but in these quiet mornings? You were untouchable in a different way.

He walked over, careful not to wake you too fast, brushing a kiss to your temple before slipping in beside you. His hand instinctively found your waist, grounding himself in your warmth. You murmured his name in your sleep, the corners of your mouth twitching into a smile.

“Didn’t think you’d wake up this early,” you mumbled, eyes still shut, arms lazily snaking around him.

“Didn’t think you’d look this dangerous in bed,” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep and affection.

The world could wait. For now, you had this room—this glowing sanctuary of stories and softness—where time slowed, and Edward Green belonged to you, entirely.