78

July stormed into Greg’s penthouse, heels clacking sharply against the polished marble floors. Her face was set in a furious scowl, still fuming over her encounter with Max and the humiliation she’d suffered. But her stride faltered when she caught sight of another woman lounging on Greg’s plush leather couch, looking completely at home.

“What the hell is this?” July’s voice was sharp, her eyes narrowing as she took in the girl, whose long, manicured nails were painted a shocking red, tapping idly on her phone.

The girl looked up, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise before breaking into a smirk. “Oh, so you’re July,” she drawled, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Greg mentioned you—funny, I pictured someone less... intense.”

July’s jaw tightened. “And who, exactly, do you think you are?”

The girl leaned back, crossing her legs leisurely. “I’m Clara, and if you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m here with Greg. Or is that too complicated for you to understand?”

July clenched her fists.
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