Katrina pov
The small, cramped bedroom of my childhood suddenly felt like a vice tightening around my throat. My knees shook so violently I had to slide my back down the chipped, peeling paint of the doorframe just to keep from collapsing onto the floor. My heart was pounding with a frantic, echoing rhythm that resonated in my ears, so loud and terrifying that I was certain they would hear it out in the hallway.
*What business does Mr. Harrison and my dad have?* The question spun frantically in my head, a dizzying, terrifying puzzle. *How do they even know each other? How does a man from the slums have a history with one of the most powerful billionaires in the country?*
The moment my brain fully processed the terrifying reality that the man standing on our worn-out porch was indeed Mr
