Chapter 7

The Pierre Hotel ballroom was a monument to excess, dripping in crystal chandeliers and overflowing with imported white orchids. A jazz quartet played softly in the corner, their notes floating over the low, melodic hum of clinking champagne flutes and the sycophantic laughter of New York

Chapter 8

Clara looked down at Julian’s hand resting on her stained lapel.

For five years, she had allowed this man’s words to dictate her worth. She had believed him when he told her she was too rough around the edges, too scarred by her past, too invisible to ever stand in the spotlight. She ha

Chapter 9

The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Victor Sterling’s Manhattan penthouse, casting a warm, golden glow over the massive mahogany dining table. Spread across the polished wood were no fewer than six different daily newspapers, and every single one of them featu