You will leave my son. Take your bastard with you and disappear.
The words echoed again.
Eve’s jaw tightened. “Over my dead body,” she muttered.
Her phone rang.
The sound startled her more than it should have, slicing through the fragile pocket of quiet with insistent cheerfulness.
She glanced at the screen, and her entire face softened.
Camila Rodrigo.
Eve answered immediately. “Camila!”
“Eve!” Camila’s voice burst through the line, bright and warm, that familiar musical lilt wrapping around Eve like a hug. “Tell me you’re sitting down.”
Eve laughed, sinking more comfortably into her chair. “I am now. What did you do?”
Camila giggled. “Mitre and I have news.”
Eve smiled. “Is it good news? Or the kind of news where I have to pretend it’s good but secretly panic?”
“Good,” Camila
