The Ashford Estate in France had gone eerily quiet.
Grace sat alone in one of the antique drawing rooms, where the gold-framed oil paintings of long-dead aristocrats stared down at her with judgmental eyes. Her dress, once perfect for the gala, was now slightly torn at the hem, a faint stain of champagne near her hip. Her makeup had faded, but her resolve had not.
Vincent Ashford had been arrested. Every global channel was broadcasting the collapse of his empire. She should’ve felt victorious.
But her heart wouldn’t rest.
She felt it in her bones, the storm was far from over.
Nathaniel entered without knocking. His tailored shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair tousled from either stress or wind, or both.
He closed the door behind him and leaned aga
