The door shut with a soft click that sounded louder than a gunshot.

Klara stood in the centre of the rug, hands clasped, playing innocent.

Roman stayed behind the desk, his fingers resting on the small gold hairpin Salima slipped him earlier.

“Sit,” he said.

Klara lowered herself into the chair.

Roman didn’t. He paced back and forth before he finally spoke.

“What were you doing in my office while we were at the villa?” he said, voice flat.

“Excuse me?” Klara said shocked.

“Don’t play dumb with me Klara, I’m not in the mood.” Roman snapped.

“I didn’t do anything,” Klara said quickly. Too quickly.

“I never said you...