Layla's pov
I didn’t expect the letter. It arrived quietly, slipped beneath my door in a cream-colored envelope with my name written in elegant cursive.
Layla Monroe.
No return address. No markings. Just that name that once held so much weight. That name I wasn’t sure still belonged to me.
Inside, a short message:
“The reading of Angelina Monroe’s will is scheduled for Thursday at 10 a.m., at Monroe & Bell Law Chambers. Your presence is requested.”
My fingers tightened around the paper. My heart didn’t know how to react—grief, confusion, curiosity. My grandmother had been in the hospital for months now and was still recovering, why were they going to read her will when she's still alive?
Damian stood in the kitchen, he had come to see me at my apartment early this morning, and he
