In the back of the black luxury car, Orlando's gaze darkened as he stared at the papers in his hands. The white paper had been squeezed and crumpled slightly between his fingers.
She almost tricked him.
The handwriting on the notebook matched Layla's perfectly, but a forensic test confirmed that the ink was freshly produced.
'How could someone who had died six months ago possibly be using new ink? Unless she was a ghost! Or perhaps... Emilia was behind it all.'
After removing his glasses, Orlando tossed the documents aside and rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the growing frustration.
"Sir, should I contact Ms. Pattinson?" Carl, the driver, asked carefully, watching him through the rearview mirror.
"No need. I don't want to hear about her ever again!"
Orlando's tone was calm
