CORINNE
It’s Monday.
And I’m currently standing like a sacrificial lamb in front of the Delacroix building. One hand grips the strap of my bag hard enough to leave dents in my palm while the other balanced the ridiculous fruit basket Stella had framed as a ‘token of appreciation’ for Lucian’s appearance at the charity gala. But carrying a wicker basket filled with pineapples and grapes into the headquarters of a billionaire felt like bringing a butter knife to a gunfight.
People gave me a wide space as they blurred past and I could only imagine the look on my face—my eyes felt weighed down by the dark bags that were the direct result of a sleepless night spent tossing and turning. I’d spent hours staring at the ceiling, trying to architect a plan that didn’t involve surrendering to Luci
