The elevator ride to the eighty-ninth floor felt like a slow, agonizing ascent to the gallows.

Clara Vance stood stiffly beside the stainless-steel serving cart, her reflection staring back at her in the polished mahogany paneling of the executive lift. Her white chef’s coat was crisp, her apron t

Clara practically threw herself out of the elevator when it reached the sub-basement kitchen. The heavy, humid air smelling of roasting garlic and industrial sanitizer hit her like a physical wall, grounding her instantly.

She pushed the cart into the dish pit, her hands trembling so badly the whe

Sienna’s perfectly glossed lips parted in shock, her eyes darting from the heavy, protective arm locked around Clara’s waist up to Julian Thorne’s unreadable face. The smug, triumphant sneer she had worn only seconds ago melted into a mask of pure, terrified confusion.

Beside her, Clara’s ex-fianc