Chapter Twenty-Nine
Laila’s POV
The moment the video call with my mother ended, the fragile smile on my face vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp wave of reality. I stared at the sterile hospital room background fading off my screen, then turned to look at the messy paper napkin sitting on my coffee table. Laila Vance. My signature looked tiny beneath Zane’s bold, razor-sharp handwriting.
I couldn't afford to crumble. Not today. Not ever.
I threw myself into work with a vengeance, using the lingering adrenaline from the morning to burn through the fog of my hangover. I stripped Zane’s massive t-shirt off, tossed it straight into the back of my closet out of sight, and pulled on a pair of old denim shorts and a faded t-shirt. I spent the next two hours scrubbing my small apartment until
