When Myra woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, the first thing she recognised was the familiar light wall of her bedroom. The pain in her head obliterated her from attempting to recall where she was the night before. She felt soreness in her lower abdomen and back, which she fathomed was the aftermath of being active. But the question was, what happened last night? She woke up with no remembrance of what happened or why she had drunk so much. She looked around her room for any signs of Hart having spent the night with her, but there were none. But if it wasn’t Hart, who else could it be, she gasped, rubbing her face. No, she, Myra Yang, wasn’t that shallow of a person! Other than Hart, she couldn’t imagine having someone else in her bed. Then she heard a knock on the door. Sierra invited herself, still sleepy early in the morning, into the room
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