Cammy slowly wheeled her father back inside the penthouse, her thoughts still echoing with the conversation they'd just shared on the balcony. Her heart was a storm—one half aching with love, the other burning with fury. But as she turned the corner toward the living room, something else caught her attention—something that made her stop short.
Ric and Monica.
They were locked in an intense, hushed conversation by the marble-topped kitchen island. Monica's posture was tight, almost guarded, while Ric leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable. Whatever they were talking about—it wasn't light or casual. Cammy could feel it in the air like static before lightning.
"Ric," she called out, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade.
Both heads snapped in her direction. Ric straightened almost instantly, his expression softening. Monica, on the other hand, transformed as if on cue—her features settling into that serene, practiced smile Cammy had known since childhood.
