DEBORAH'S POV
The car rolled to a stop in front of my cousin's house, and the weight of the day felt heavier than ever. I reached for the door handle, desperate to escape the tense silence that had consumed the ride. Elijah hadn't said a word since I demanded to be taken home, his anger palpable. But just as I opened the door, a sharp knock on the glass startled me.
I turned to see a security personnel, his face stern as he gestured for the window to be lowered. The driver obliged, and the man leaned in slightly. "You're being followed," he said in a low, authoritative tone. "Mr. Sutton recommends you drive inside to avoid further scandal."
Elijah, sitting beside me, stiffened. "Followed?" he repeated, his voice clipped. "By who?"
The guard motioned toward the rear. I turned and, sure enough, there was a car parked at the end of the street, its occupants barely visible through the tinted windows.
