She paused. Her fingers took it before her brain even registered what was happening. She opened it slowly, the way you open a letter bomb or a wedding invite from an ex.
Her mouth dropped open. “Is this… Is this real?”
“As real as your hangover,” I said, sipping my matcha. “You deserve it. We all do.”
Her knees buckled slightly, and she leaned against the door frame, blinking fast.
“What the f—Catherine. This is—this is three hundred thousand pounds.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I will give the same to Mylene.
Twenty grand each to the babysitters.
They handled chaos like they were paid by MI6.”
She stared at me like she was trying to find the hidden camera.
“What is this? A prank? A reverse pyramid scheme? Are you dying? Are we dying?”
I smirked. “No. Not yet. I just… felt like sharing.”
I
