For the Harris family, it was all about the money—a desperate attempt to claw their way back to relevance.
I’d seen countless arrangements like this growing up, so it no longer surprised me.
Historically, alliances through marriage have always been more about strategy than romance.
As I mused over this, a girl, no more than sixteen or seventeen, slipped into the seat beside me.
She was adorable—soft features with a hint of baby fat—and her resemblance to Damian was unmistakable.
“I’m Kara,” she introduced. “Your ex’s younger sister.”
Before I could respond, she added in a cold, clipped tone, “Don’t talk. Just follow me.”
Her hand wrapped around mine, tugging me to stand.
But I didn’t budge. Instead, I asked, “Did your brother send you to help me?”
“What do you think?” she replied, her brows furrowing in irritation. “If you don’t come with me now, you won’t get another chance!”
By then, a group of men in black suits had begun closing in.
Kara sighed in exasperation, letting go of my hand. She sat back down, clearly resigning herself to the fact that there was no escaping.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she muttered.