"Oh, fuck."
The words escaped Amara before she could swallow them back. She stood at the sleek black door of Travis Alden's penthouse, one hand frozen in the air, just inches from the biometric panel.
She had told herself she wouldn't come here unless she absolutely had to.
But then he texted her.
"My mother is here. Please come. I need you." The text had said.
She had stared at the message for a long time. She hated that it pulled something in her chest. Hate and warmth, coexisting like a bruise that hadn't healed right.
Her phone buzzed again. It was just his name lighting up the screen that made her exhale slowly.
"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. She needs a show."
So she came.
And now her pulse was too loud.
She didn't even have time to knock. The door unlocked from inside with a soft click, and when it opened, she was greeted by the last face she wanted to see.
Pricillia Alden.
Travis's mother.
