The morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting warm lines across the room. He was still deep in sleep, sprawled messily across the bed, half-tangled in the sheets. That peace didn’t last long. A sharp jab landed against his waist — not gentle, not accidental. Before he could even register the pain, he was on the floor with a dull thud and a groan.

Standing over him, Desiree loomed like a smug tyrant in loungewear — cropped shirt riding high, plaid pants perfectly tied, and a half-chewed cigar teasing the corner of her smirk.

“Seriously?” she said, one eyebrow raised in theatrical disappointment. “You're sleeping like a corpse and it's already past seven. What are you, training to be useless professionally?”

She stepped back with a slight shake of her head, muttering, “It's unbelievable that you're really related to me, lazyass!" before striding off like this was all just part of her daily routine — and maybe it was.