The morning after the gala felt different. The tension that had defined the mansion for weeks hadn't vanished; it had transformed into something thick, heavy, and undeniably intimate. Layla sat at the vanity, staring at the reflection of a woman who no longer knew who she was.
"You're staring at a ghost again," a voice rumbled from the doorway.
Adam was leaning against the frame, his sleeves rolled up, a dark intensity in his gaze that made her breath hitch. He walked toward her, his reflection looming behind hers in the mirror. He reached out, his hand resting on her shoulder—not as a threat, but as a claim.
"Your father is on a plane to Switzerland," Adam said, his voice flat but firm. "I’ve set him up with a small estate and a monthly allowance. He is safe, Layla. But he is also gon
