Zeden.
Rukov pulled the car into the compound, tires crunching over the gravel drive of the mansion. The sun was already too bright, too hot for this early in the morning, cutting through the tinted windows like it wanted to burn the anger right out of me.
It was the next day after the gala.
Mother had been blowing up my phone since I left—missed calls, voicemails, texts that I didn’t bother opening. Rukov’s line too. She’d even tried him when I wouldn’t pick up.
I’d been busy. Meetings. Shipments. . And honestly, there was no point answering. Every call would end the same: her shouting, reminding me of promises I made when I was seventeen, back when I still thought family meant something more than leverage. I’d behaved last night.
I’d played the part. Smiled. Let Delilah touch me.
