Naime pressed her eyes shut as another crash thundered from behind Drake’s bedroom door. The sound of glass shattering tore through the hallway, followed by the dull thud of something heavy striking the wall. She stood frozen for a heartbeat, her palms damp, her breath shallow. Then she forced herself forward and knocked.
“Sir Drake,” she called softly.
No answer. Only the scrape of furniture dragged violently across the floor.
She turned the knob. Locked.
A fresh wave of anger rose in her chest, not for the man raging inside, but for Shelly. Drake had refused visitors for weeks. He had made it clear in that cold, controlled voice of his. Yet Shelly had insisted, smiling sweetly as though stubbornness were kindness. And now Naime was left to stand outside a storm she had not created.
