The aftermath of the presentation victory was a hollow, buzzing quiet. The Harringtons had been ecstatic, Cynthia openly weeping at the model, Robert shaking both their hands with a firm, final decisiveness. They’d won. The hybrid cliff house would be built. Sterling & Grey erupted in a flurry of congratulatory emails and champagne toasts in the breakroom. Charles Sterling beamed, calling them his “dream team,” his eyes calculating the fee now secured.
For Evelyn, the triumph was a distant satellite signal. Her body was the immediate, pressing reality. The nausea was no longer a suggestion; it was a scheduled, brutal siege. The fatigue was a lead weight in her bones. The victory champagne tasted like metal and regret. She smiled through the toast, her hand resting discreetly on her still-
