The gala dinner was a slow-motion nightmare of clinking silver and droning speeches. To anyone else, the room was a masterpiece of high society, but to me, it was a tactical grid. I sat perfectly still, my posture a testament to the "restorative" powers of the Swiss Alps, while my pulse thrummed a frantic, heavy rhythm against the silk of my sleeves.
Every few minutes, Jason would rest his hand on my thigh or lean in to whisper a proprietary comment about the guests. Each touch felt like a brand, a cold reminder of the cage I was still technically inside. I checked the time on the large Roman clock at the far end of the hall. Ten minutes. The countdown was a physical weight in my chest.
"I’m going to step away for a moment, darling," I whispered, leaning close enough to Jason that my bre
