~ Damon ~
Nathalie knocked once before gliding into the room, her usual elegance on full display. Without saying a word, she set a sealed envelope on my desk.
Red wax. Ashcroft’s crest.
“Hand-delivered,” she announced. “From Charles.”
I was already aware. He reserved the wax for when he wanted to remind everyone of his old-money status.
I opened the envelope and scanned the gold-lettered card:
“The Ashcroft Annual Gala. Friday. 8 PM. Black tie. Spouses expected.”
Cameras. Publicity. A crowd of people who smiled while plotting behind your back.
“Call my tailor,” I instructed. “And have Lila come over.”
---
She arrived ten minutes later, looking sharp and composed. The blazer fit her shoulders perfectly, as if it were designed to keep emotions at bay.
“You needed something?” she a
