CHAPTER 27: THE FIRST STRIKE
(LORAIN’S POV)
The illusion of peace lasted exactly four hours.
By noon, the quiet warmth of Saviour’s penthouse felt like a distant dream. We were sitting at his marble kitchen island, his tablet propped between our coffee cups as he walked me through the venue security blueprints for the Gala. His hand rested over mine, his thumb absently stroking my knuckles in a rhythmic, comforting pattern that kept my heart steady.
Then my phone rang.
The caller ID displayed my father's name. My chest tightened instantly, a cold wave of dread washing over the sweet linger of the morning.
"Dad?" I answered, sliding my thumb across the screen and pressing the receiver to my ear. "Is everything okay?"
"Lorain..." My father’s voice sounded thin, fractured, and decades
