17

Asher

I’m sipping from a cup of coffee in the small library on the first floor. I don’t trust anyone not to spill on the old books. Their yellowed pages pack decades of stories that can’t be replaced. I’m the only person in the mansion who cares about these things. Thus, I’m the only one with the luxury of enjoying a good drink among the shelves.

Setting the mug down on the table, I flip the textured paper over, starting to read the next line, when a series of loud footsteps alerts me. Lifting my eyes, I watch Camila marching toward me. She’s moving with purpose, her head low, arms pumping. There’s a gracefulness in her steps, and my eyes are drawn to her long legs.

“I want to see your phone,” she says firmly as she stops in front of me.

My eyebrows arch up at her bossy tone. “I see Layla’s lessons are rubbing off on you.”

Camila’s pretty mouth turns down at the corners. Her voice comes out gentler—as if she’s trying to show remorse, which is very unlike her.

“Sorry,” she says. “I jus