**Maroni Estate — Noon**
Sunlight poured into the solarium. A string quartet rehearsed softly in the west wing. Emerie stood by the glass doors, silent, until she heard footsteps.
Polished leather. Expensive cologne. Laughter already curling around the corner.
“Ah, so this is the famous doctor."
She turned.
Emilio Maroni.
Tall. Bronze-skinned. Blazer unbuttoned like he owned air. A champagne flute in hand, half empty and clearly not his first.
“Emerie, right?" His voice was silk, fraying at the edges. “I've heard... interesting things."
“I'm sure you have," she replied evenly.
He walked in a slow circle around her, not quite predatory, but rehearsed.
“You're much more beautiful than Albert deserves," he said.
“Interesting," she said, “he said the same about you."
He laughed. “T
