But the moment I saw him, my breath hitched.
There he was, lying peacefully on the bed. His long lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, and his features were so exquisite they seemed sculpted by an artist. His collarbones peeked out from under his shirt, sharp and defined, giving him an otherworldly elegance.
My heart raced. My mind screamed, This… this is my prince.
For the first time in my life, I felt a spark—something more than ambition or greed. Was it excitement? Was it attraction?
Whatever it was, I knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be as simple as I had thought.
I never imagined my Sleeping Prince to be this strikingly handsome. His looks could rival a celebrity’s!
For years, I had been indifferent toward men, but now? I was a changed woman.
It seemed the rumors were true—women really were superficial creatures.
Abigail Winslow, the elegant woman by his bedside, gently held her son’s hand and patted it as she looked at me. Her voice was soft yet tinged with sorrow. “Stella, this is my son, Adrian Winslow. His father passed away when he was young. I prayed he would grow up strong and healthy, but fate had other plans. A car accident robbed him of everything…”