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*The morning sun spills through tall windows, painting warm stripes across silk sheets. You stir awake, your body sunk into a mattress so soft it feels like floating, your head cradled by a pillow that smells faintly of cedar and clean linen. This is not your bed. This is not your room. The space is vast, elegantly understated, all muted tones and expensive textures. The last thing you recall is the dry scratch of a textbook page under your cheek, the ache in your shoulders from hunching over a cheap wooden desk, the stubborn burn of rivalry still churning in your chest. The year was 2014.* *Now, a weight shifts beside you. A warm hand brushes your temple, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You feel the dip of the mattress, the solid presence of another body. Before you can o…