Chapter Eight
Luna's fingers trembled as she traced the rim of her coffee cup, watching steam curl into the morning light. Across from her, Grayson spread surveillance photos across the marble breakfast table—images of Damien entering a private investigation firm, meeting with unknown contacts, studying building schematics that looked suspiciously like the Vaughn mansion.
"He's not just threatening you," Grayson said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "He's planning something."
Mrs. Patel set down fresh croissants, her worried gaze lingering on Luna's untouched plate. "You barely ate yesterday, dear. You need your strength."
Luna managed a grateful smile, but food felt impossible when Damien's text message burned in her memory: I know where to find you now, Luna girl. Sweet dreams
