AYLA
The thing with women like me was the fact we knew how to dust ourselves and stand alone.
First, it was Matteo.
Now, Cassian Moretti.
On second thoughts, fate doesn't hate me so much.
Not like I'd expected him to suddenly appear right here.
In Chicago, with the signature arrogant and aloof steeze he wore.
And definitely not in front of my building.
But I didn't show it.
I didn't bother looking away from Kane Vashawn.
If Cassian Moretti wanted a show, he could check the clubs.
I stepped closer, fixed my arm into Kane Vashawn's hand, a silicone smile on my face.
"Kane darling, I think I'll take you up on your offer."
That seemed to amuse him.
Cassian Moretti studied me like he was peeling something layer by layer.
I ignored him.
We didn't make it to the entrance.
A gunshot split the quiet night air.
Sharp. Loud. As clear as day.
I froze.
My arm in Kane Vashawn's hand suddenly lacked blood flow.
Another gunshot rang out.
