The drive out to the Hamptons felt like a victory lap. Two-Bit handled the Escalade with surgical precision while Sasha and I sat in the back, the tension of the city fading into the background, replaced by the salt-air scent of the coast.
When the wrought-iron gates of Lana Grande's estate hissed open, it was like entering a different world. This wasn't just a house; it was a fortress of glass and limestone. As we pulled into the circular drive, I noticed the camera crew's vans tucked discreetly behind the guest house. Lana was professional—everything was already staged.
