The crystal chandeliers of the grand dining room cast a fractured, brilliant light over the gala, but Julian Thorne saw none of it. His vision had narrowed to a single, infuriating point: the sleek, emerald-green back of Elara’s tailored suit as she walked away from him.

The words echoed in his sk

The penthouse smelled nauseatingly of lavender and chamomile.

Elara stepped out of the guest bedroom, already dressed in a sharp, slate-grey blazer and tailored trousers. She paused at the top of the grand staircase, looking down into the sprawling living room. The space, once a testament to Elara

"Careful with that corner," Elara instructed, her voice ringing out in the cavernous space of what used to be her architectural studio. "That drafting table is vintage. The legs are prone to scuffing if you take the turn too sharply."

"You got it, Ms. Vance," Marcus, the foreman of the elite moving