Transferred.
Her shop.
Officially in her name.
The real estate agent had been polite but useless.
“Ma’am, the buyer is registered under an LLC. That’s all the information I’m authorized to provide.”
An LLC.
A ghost.
She ran her fingers over the paper again. The ink was real. The transfer was real. The ownership was real.
But the person behind it?
Invisible.
Who spends that kind of money and hides?
Her jaw tightened.
She didn’t like favors.
She didn’t like help.
And she definitely didn’t like feeling handled.
With a quiet exhale, she stacked the papers neatly and slid them into a drawer.
Right next to the lilies she hadn’t asked for.
Right next to the unanswered questions.
Right next to Izzy.
She shut the drawer.
Enough.
Tonight wasn’t about him.
Or the shop.
Or whatever invisible hand thought it could rearrange her life.
Tonight was about Inez.
A small smile softened her expression as she grabbed a dish towel and wiped down the counter one last time. The house already sparkled. She’d cleaned like she was preparing for inspection — floors shining, guest room made with fresh white sheets, candles lined up on the dresser.
Wine chilling in the fridge.
Hookah set up on the back patio like old times.
Her and Inez.
Eight years old in the projects.
