It was early—too early for phone calls—but Damian’s phone buzzed anyway.
He almost ignored it, not wanting to wake Elena, who still lay beside him, her hand resting gently on his chest. But when he saw the caller ID—Tomas, one of his trusted men—his heart skipped a beat.
Quietly, he slipped out of bed, grabbed a hoodie, and walked into the hallway. He answered with a tight voice.
“Talk to me.”
“She’s here,” Tomas said, without needing to say the name. “Spotted her at the Rivera Hotel just outside town. Black dress, red lips, walking like she owns the damn street. She asked for you.”
Damian closed his eyes, jaw clenching.
“How long?”
“Just got in. She hasn’t made a scene yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”
Of course. Camila never liked waiting.
“I’ll handle it,” Damian muttered.
