Natasha's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as she pulled up to Leila's house. The street was quiet, lined with tall trees whose leaves rustled in the early afternoon breeze. She hadn't expected to feel nervous, but a tight knot formed in her stomach. Leila wasn't someone you ignored. And the fact that she had called—risking everything—meant trouble.
When she reached the door, she knocked, sharp and controlled.
The door swung open almost immediately. Leila stood there, smiling in that infuriatingly confident way, a glass of wine lazily held in one hand. "Natasha," she said, voice smooth. "I was starting to wonder if you'd actually come."
Natasha's lips pressed into a thin line. "Why did you call me?" she asked, her tone fflat.she didn't bother to greet, she wanted the aanswefirst
Leila's smile didn't falter. "You make it sound so cold. No hug, no hello..." She stepped aside, motioning Natasha in. "Come in, Natasha. Don't stand on the doorstep all day."
