Kayla
Damien led me back toward the front entrance, his hand resting lightly against my back while we walked. I was still trying to process the ridiculous size of the estate when the sound of another car pulling into the driveway caught my attention immediately.
A sleek silver Bentley rolled to a smooth stop near the fountain.
The driver’s door opened slowly, and a tall blonde woman stepped out like the property belonged to her.
She was dressed a black pencil skirt suit paired with heels from what I think is from Christain louboutins unreleased collection. Not a single strand of her perfectly styled hair moved out of place, even with the breeze cutting through the driveway.
“Damien,” she called smoothly, her lips curving into a polished smile. She looked like she rehearsed that in the
