Amara's POV
Benedict and Medvantage Global faced a storm of online rage, just as expected.
The entire Hopper clan seemed cursed with bad luck these days.
Right now, I was in a VIP room at an exclusive billiards club in Merida Metro.
My hand had nearly healed completely. The doctors had finally removed the splint that kept my bones stable.
I grabbed the cue stick and bent over the table. One clean shot, and every ball found its pocket.
The blonde guy with piercing blue eyes stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Seriously, Miss Dalton, are you even real? Throw me a bone here."
Despite his foreign looks, his Malkierian was flawless.
If any Hopper family member or cop investigating Benedict's crash had walked in, they'd have recognized him instantly.
This blonde stranger was the same foreign photographer who'd supposedly needed a translator because he "didn't speak Malkierian."
