Kayla
"Umm, I'm going on a run?" I blurted out, my voice hitching slightly.
Damien let out a short, skeptical laugh. "What? A run? Since when do you exercise, Kayla?"
"Well, since I realized I have a private chef," I said, trying to force a laugh that sounded way too nervous. "Can't have your wife getting fat, can you?"
Damien raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. He knew something was off—he always did—but he didn't push it. "If you say so."
I hurried upstairs and grabbed a matching set I'd seen earlier. Alo, of course. Damien’s handiwork again. I pulled on a pair of New Balance trainers—which, honestly, felt like walking on clouds—and headed out.
The jog to the gate was longer than I anticipated. By the time the massive iron bars came into view, my lungs were burn
