The air seemed to congeal.
Adrian Locke’s face spasmed, the smug curve of his lips collapsing as if slapped away.
“Vi… villa?” he repeated hoarsely, the word sounding foreign, almost painful on his tongue.
Serena nodded, her expression composed despite the frantic rhythm in her chest.
“Yes. If an apartment would suffice, Rosy Crest Garden would have been the obvious choice. But Mr. Virelli isn’t here for something ordinary.”
The Lockes stared at her as though struck dumb.
A villa within Rosy Crest wasn’t just expensive—it was absurdly so. Thirty million was the bare minimum. The most coveted ones soared well past a hundred million. Even families who flaunted wealth hesitated to dream that far. Yet the man they had dismissed moments ago stood here casually, as though discussing grocer
