The scent of linseed oil and gouache was the only thing in the penthouse that truly belonged to Clara.

Her medical illustration studio, a bright, sunlit room at the end of the eastern hallway, was her sanctuary. The walls were lined with corkboards pinned with intricate, hyper-realistic drawings o

The interior of the town car was silent, save for the rhythmic drumming of rain against the tinted windows and the incessant vibrating of Julian’s phone.

Clara sat on the far side of the leather seat, staring out at the blurred city lights of downtown Seattle. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved

The hospital gala was in full swing, a blur of clinking glasses, string quartet music, and the low, wealthy hum of high-society networking.

Clara remained in the periphery, a shadow in her black dress, moving silently through the glittering crowd. After Marcus left her side to mingle with internat