REBECCA’S POV:
My penthouse is a sanctuary of sleek lines and muted elegance, but today it feels like a cage to me. I pace the living area with furious steps, my heels clicking on the marble floor, a tempest brewing inside me. Layla sits on the edge of the plush sofa, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. Beside her, an old, ragged-looking couple, their weathered faces etched with worry.
Finally, I shoot another cold glance at them, their presence an unwelcome interruption at a supposedly a celebratory day for me.
"Well?" I begin, my voice sharp as a knife. "Why did you tell me not to come and see Catherine last night? What exactly happened? Did you suddenly chicken out after receiving my money?"
Layla's voice trembles as she speaks, her eyes darting between me and the old couple.
