The silence in the boardroom was absolute. It was the kind of heavy, suffocating quiet that only occurs when powerful men realize they have just been thoroughly outplayed.

Beatrice Thorne clutched the edge of the glass table, her knuckles white. "You can't do this," she gasped, her voice trembling

The evening news was a relentless loop of flash photography, speculative headlines, and poorly concealed envy.

Clara sat on the edge of the sprawling white leather sofa in Victor’s penthouse, staring at the massive flat-screen television mounted on the far wall. The screen displayed a high-definit

The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, but the atmosphere inside was as tense as a war room.

"Absolutely not," Victor barked, slamming his palm flat against the granite kitchen island. "It is a suicide mission, Clara. Julian lands in less than four hours. H