Mirabelle's POV.
I felt bubbles rumbling in my tummy as I excitedly walked down the long hallway of a famous hotel suite in New York, I stopped midway after noticing the countless doors along the way.
A remembrance flashed across my head so I hurriedly took out my phone. I squinted my eyes at the screen, struggling to read through the text my husband, Ken Sylvester, had sent to me earlier this evening In my intoxicated state.
