Selfish Romance
She sat curled on the leather sofa, restless, her thoughts looping: the photograph, Camille’s warnings, Damien’s cryptic words.
She needed answers.
And if Damien wouldn’t give them to her willingly, she’d find them herself.
Barefoot and silent, she padded down the hall toward his study. The brass key still hung beneath the desk, just where it had been last time. Almost like he wanted her to find it.
The drawer opened with a low groan.
Most of the files inside were routine — business contracts, ledgers, contacts. But near the bottom, another envelope sat waiting. This one had her name written across the front in neat, deliberate ink.
Sikat na Kabanata