The phone call just now had obviously been from a woman—a woman named Shannon.
She wondered if this Shannon was the woman who held the eldest Winslow son's heart.
However, this thought lingered in Shalma Hughes's mind for only a few seconds. She pulled the covers up and burrowed underneath them. Whether it was Shannon or someone else, it had nothing to do with her. Dealing with two difficult men back-to-back had severely drained her limited energy as a wounded patient.
That evening, in a high-end residential complex in Aethelgard.
Bright lights illuminated the grounds. The stark white glow appeared lonely yet distinct across the somewhat empty neighborhood.
