As I lay on the bed, my phone buzzed softly on the bedside table.
I reached for it without urgency, expecting Maya or a notification I had missed earlier. When I saw the name of the interior decorator, my brows pulled together slightly.
“That’s odd,” I murmured.
Canna turned from the window. “What is it?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said, opening the message.
The words sat there, clear and direct, not dramatic, just informative. She explained that Jeffrty had come to the house earlier in the evening, unannounced, and visibly upset. He had demanded to know why everything good was being handed over, why the best property, the best decisions, the best future seemed to belong to Canna. He raised his voice, questioned the authority behind the arrangements, and insisted that he would not allow ev
