The air in the hallway was thick with silence, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the antique grandfather clock at the end of the corridor. Yemi stood there, his back pressed against the wall, every muscle in his body rigid. His fingers clenched at his sides as he listened to the voices drifting through the slightly ajar study door.
Lola’s voice came first, low and hesitant. “You were right about him.”
Yemi’s pulse spiked. His stomach clenched, his mind racing to process those words. Who?
Desmond’s voice followed, smooth and controlled. “I usually am.” A pause, then the unmistakable sound of ice clinking against glass. “But let’s not waste time with pleasantries. Tell me, Lola… what exactly do you plan to do about him?”
Yemi inhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat. There
