Layla Martine pushed through the throng of bodies at Sullivan's, her platinum curls bouncing with each step. She manoeuvred herself to a quiet corner with a clear line of sight and settled against the dark mahogany bar. Her sharp gaze cut across the dimly lit room, landing on Camila Martinez, who was laughing heartily with a group of friends.
"Can I get you something?" the bartender asked, eyeing Layla's designer dress.
"Champagne. The best you've got," Layla replied without taking her eyes off Camila. She flicked a stray lock of hair over her shoulder, a predatory smile playing on her lips.
As she sipped her bubbly, Layla's attention zeroed in on a man standing alone, his eyes fixed on Camila. He had the chiselled features and smouldering look of a model- exactly the type Layla
