Kyla Zamora's mind was in turmoil. The salary they offered when recruiting her was ridiculously high, and no one knew better than her how expensive the beachfront properties in this part of the Southern Isles were.
A former Actress she managed once wanted to buy a plot in this area and build a villa, but was directly told: private property, not for sale.
The miles upon miles of coastline were all private properties—this wasn't something money alone could buy. She hadn't expected to end up at a private villa in the middle of the coastline and couldn't help feeling a bit exhilarated.
"Starting a studio?" Delphine looked at the documents and asked in a low, raspy voice. This contract wasn't much different from the ones she'd signed before, except it didn't contain any unreasonable clauses. Then again, Ignatius Leclair didn't need a contract to dictate her life and death—he could make it happen by mere will alone.
