Grace sat in the car, her pulse racing with anticipation for what was about to unfold. The vehicle glided to a smooth halt outside the minimalist café, its engine purring into silence.
Gordon's assistant Cyrus escorted her into the private booth, where the heir to the Hayworth empire was haloed in golden lamplight, his regal presence so intense it bordered on oppressive. Yet the dangerous glint in his eyes made Cyrus's stomach twist—this meeting reeked of trouble. They exchanged uneasy glances before retreating, closing the door swiftly behind them.
Outside, Cyrus and Heather stood sentry, their shoulders tense. Cyrus kept his gaze lowered, guilt gnawing at him—this felt like a knife in Madam Tracy's back. Heather's manicured nails dug into her palms; the suffocating tension they'd just
