The kitchen of L’Etoile was usually a symphony. A loud, aggressive symphony, but a coordinated one. Tonight, it was a catastrophic trainwreck.

Julian stood at the center of the pass, sweat beading on his forehead and soaking the collar of his pristine executive chef's coat. The ticket machine besi

The morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Café de l'Aube was a soft, buttery gold, casting a warm glow over the pristine marble tabletop. Clara Vance sat in a secluded corner booth, a bone-china cup of black coffee resting untouched beside a stack of legal documents.

For

The elevator ride to Seraphina Croft’s penthouse was a blur of humiliating, agonizing panic for Julian. He clutched his bruised wrist to his chest, his mind racing in a hundred different directions, unable to process the absolute absurdity of what had just happened at the café.

*Victor Sterling.*