Three days had passed since the news about Felix and Kien's attacks hit, and I couldn't shake the fear clawing my gut constantly.
Reyes and Hellen brushed it off casual like it was nothing, but what if those same goons who'd come after me before were back? Were they the same goons who attacked them?
Nightmares kept me tossing at night.
I was in my mansion, slouched in my orange hoodie zipped loose over green shorts that clung to my thighs, raven hair twisted into a messy bun stabbed through with my design pencil—sketches of new pet hoodies, shirts and bowties littering the desk next to fabric samples.
Three photoshoots and an ad shoot loomed tomorrow, but profits were insane now; we'd pulled Herlos from bankruptcy, bought back the factories, installed shiny new machines.
Even the modelling gigs poured in from other companies, but I turned them down—my brand first.
