DAMIAN’S POV
I was out on the backyard terrace, the one that costs more than most people’s houses.
The white tiles felt cool under my bare feet while the glass balustrade glowed gently in the fading sunlight. There was a long teak table that could seat twenty comfortably, and a built-in wine fridge hummed softly nearby.
Ahead of me, the lawn rolled out like a beautiful, lush green carpet, big enough to comfortably host at least five hundred guests tomorrow night.
The air smelled like freshly cut grass, salt from the ocean two miles away, and the final sip of Moët I had just killed.
The sky had gone from crystal blue to blood-orange while I sat there nursing the dead bottle.
I’d lost track of time. Hours, probably. Long enough for the bottle to go from full to corpse.
I tipped the em
