Kneeling on the hardwood floor with a plastic bag in one hand and a rag soaked in disinfectant in the other, Dalila slowly looked up at her.
Then she stood.
“Not all of us were lucky enough to be born rich.”
After all, Cristina Tate wasn’t just one of the most acclaimed actresses of her generation—she was also the daughter of Noah Tate, legendary Hollywood director and creator of multiple award-winning classics.
Dalila crossed her arms.
“Though money can’t buy actual talent.” She tilted her head slightly. “So I guess that explains why you made a deal with the Devil.”
Cristina’s red lips curled into an amused smile.
“Still obsessing over why I sold my soul to Him?” she mused. “That level of fixation really isn’t healthy, Dalila.”
“Says the ghost who literally haunts me every day.”
