Chapter 4

I was walking to my car after a particularly draining day at work when I heard heels clicking on the asphalt behind me, moving faster than a casual pace. The sound made something prickle at the back of my neck—an instinct I'd learned to trust over the past week of living at Daniella's apartment.

"Kyla Stevens?"

I turned to find a young woman approaching, maybe mid-twenties, with glossy brown hair and the kind of confident stride that belonged to someone who'd never been told no. She was pretty in an obvious way—the type of beauty that photographed well for social…