Amber.
“Grandma!” Zameera’s voice rang out the second we stepped into the vast Vercetti house, echoing off the high ceilings and marble floors.
The woman who turned around didn’t look old enough to carry that title. She caught Zameera mid-run, lifting her easily despite the dramatic spin that followed, laughing softly as though the years hadn’t touched her at all.
I stood frozen a few steps behind, taking her in. She wore a deep red dinner dress that hugged her figure perfectly—elegant, expensive, screaming wealth in every tailored seam. Long black hair fell in glossy waves down her back, the same rich shade Zeden’s carried, and her features were sharp, beautiful in a way that felt almost dangerous.
Everything about her radiated control, money, and something colder underneath the smil
