Selene found me on a Tuesday.
Not at a public event this time. Not across a crowded room with cameras nearby and people watching and the natural pressure of an audience keeping everything at a certain level of civil.
She found me at the small coffee place two streets from the estate where I had started going in the mornings when I needed an hour that belonged entirely to me. No Mrs. Park. No schedule on the desk. No Damien filling the house with his particular brand of controlled silence. Just me and a corner table and a cup of something hot and forty five minutes of being nobody's fake wife.
I had been going for five days. I did not think anyone knew.
Someone knew.
She walked in at eight forty in the morning looking like she had not accidentally ended up there. Dressed simply, which
