Allison'POV
I stood at Heidi's door, finger pressed to the buzzer.
The door opened within seconds.
Heidi stood there in a silk nightgown that clung like it had been sprayed on.
Makeup flawless. Lips glossy.
She looked like she was waiting for paparazzi, not me.
"Allison," she purred, voice smooth as aged whiskey. "What a surprise."
Her eyes, though?
Cold. Calculating. Snake-like.
I didn't step inside—yet.
Instead, I let my gaze sweep the interior: custom Italian sofas, original oil paintings, and walnut floors that looked suspiciously like the ones Lucian used in Storm Industries' luxury show units.
Every surface gleamed like it had been styled for a magazine shoot.
And yet, the air smelled faintly of desperation—like roses masking rot.
My smile was
