Layla's pov
The echo of the gunshot fills my ears, intertwining with my heartbeat.
Damian grips my wrist tightly, his body shielding mine as we crouch behind a stone bench in the garden.
"Stay down," he snarls, his voice like a knife.
I am unable to breathe. My mind races. Who fired the shot? Where did it come from?
Damian’s men move fast, fanning out, weapons raised. Someone shouts an order. Another voice curses.
Then—silence.
Long. Heavy. Drenched in tension.
Finally, a guard approaches Damian, his face grim.
“The shooter’s gone.”
Damian’s fingers tighten around me before he lets go. Slowly, he stands, helping me up.
I force my shaking legs to move, my eyes darting around. The shadows stretch long across the garden, shifting under the swaying lanterns.
Damian turns to his me
