Three months. Ninety days of absolute, suffocating silence.

Lyra Vance sat before the sprawling expanse of the mixing console, her pale fingers resting lightly on the keys of the neural-link synthesizer. The underground studio, once her sacred sanctuary, had become her tomb. The platinum records o

The next morning, the studio door unlocked not with Julian’s heavy, measured tread, but with the frantic, chaotic clicking of stilettos.

Sienna Blake practically danced into the underground bunker, followed by two massive, rolling garment racks pushed by an exhausted-looking assistant. Sienna look

The heavy steel door to the underground studio flew open with such force that it rebounded off the soundproofed wall, the hydraulic hinges screaming in protest.

Julian Cross stood in the threshold, his chest heaving, his tailored suit jacket unbuttoned. His eyes darted from the glittering, jagged