The taxi ride back to the apartment was an exercise in silent, agonizing endurance. Every pothole the driver hit sent a fresh wave of fire through Sloane Kensington’s fractured ribs. She stared out the smudged window, watching the city skyline blur past in a gray, indifferent haze. The heavy bandage

The Blackwell Building was a towering monolith of black glass and brushed steel that dominated the city’s financial district. It was an architectural marvel that Declan Cross had spent his entire career envying, and the headquarters of Roman Blackwell, the undisputed titan of corporate real estate.

The Crystal Ballroom of the St. Regis Hotel was a shimmering ocean of silk, diamonds, and calculated ambition. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the city’s architectural elite, illuminating the desperate networking that fueled the industry. A string quartet played a lively Vivaldi pi