“It’s past eight, darling.”

“I never sleep past seven,” I said, swinging my legs slowly over the edge of the mattress.

“Your body is demanding rest,” Daniel said, capping his pen with a loud click before sliding the journal into his leather briefcase.

I looked down at the floor to reach for my slippers and missed the quiet click as he turned the key in the brass lock of his briefcase, sealing the small journal safely inside.

“Were you writing down my sleep hours?” I asked, adjusting my glasses as I sat upright.