Layla's pov
The air felt thicker with each passing day. Heavy. Toxic. It clung to my skin and coiled around my ribs like wire. Every breath I took carried the weight of a thousand eyes—judging, questioning, waiting for me to crumble.
The storm hadn’t passed. It had only sharpened.
And it started with another leak.
It was just past midnight. Damian had gone to bed hours ago, but I sat curled up on the living room couch, buried beneath application files, trying to retrace every step, every decision. My laptop buzzed beside me with spreadsheet after spreadsheet of our applicant notes. I had read them all, over and over. Trying to prove to myself that we had done the right thing.
Then my phone lit up.
I almost didn’t check. But habit won.
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