An hour later, Ayla stood in front of the gate of her former house. The place that used to be filled with warmth and laughter now felt like a graveyard. The tall iron gate stood slightly ajar, creaking as the wind pushed against it. The security guards were nowhere in sight, and neither were the maids. The whole place was disturbingly quiet, like even the walls were holding their breath.
The strong stench of petrol clung to the air, burning Ayla’s nose. She smirked, her fingers tightening around the black gun in her hand. The guys she paid had done their job perfectly. She could almost hear their rough voices in her head, promising her that the house would be soaked in fuel, ready to burn.
Her heart pounded as she took a step inside. The once-beautiful garden was now overgrown, weeds swa
