91

Asher

Layla has the ability to traverse my home with the lightness of a mouse on tiptoe. I only hear her footsteps because I’m listening for them. My office door is open, her shadow slipping through the gap moments before she does.

“Asher Volkov,” she says to announce herself. Her posture is stiff, shoulders pulled back and jaw clenched.

She knows why I’ve called for her.

“Explain yourself.”

“About what?”

She won’t make this easy for me. Fine. Sitting forward in my leather chair, I place my elbows on my spread knees, my chin perched on my laced fingers. “You knew Camila’s little secret. Didn’t you?”

Gently, with just her heel, she shuts the door. “Her brother? I did.”

There it is. The confirmation I expected but hoped to be wrong about. “It seems everyone is happily keeping secrets from me,” I grumble, reclining back in my chair.

Her eyebrows lower to match her tone. “Can you blame them?”

My fingers, which had started to relax on the chair’s arms, dig in fiercely enough to make the le