Not even a single day of peace—not even when my wife is finally here after a whole damn year.
Life really has it out for me.
Shaking my head, I stepped out of the elevator, only to be greeted by an unwelcome sight.
"Who is she?"
"A celebrity?"
"More like a foreign princess?"
"Move! I need a picture!"
A crowd had gathered in the lobby, a sea of people whispering and snapping photos, their phones held high. My expression soured.
At the center of it all, sitting on a bench like she owned the place, was Layla. Her long legs crossed elegantly, her posture relaxed as if the commotion around her didn't exist. The four bodyguards surrounding her kept the crowd at bay, forming a wide perimeter, yet Layla paid them no mind.
She twirled a strand of hair between her fingers, her gaze lost in thought, utterly indifferent to the chaos she had caused.
