London · Mayfair
January 28, 2025 · 19:30
Eva stood on the terrace of the gallery’s second floor, gazing down.
Below her, the cocktail flowed like a living river—black gowns, champagne flutes, and insincere laughter. Men discussed projects, women displayed jewels, and occasionally, two would huddle to exchange business cards, their eyes already wandering elsewhere.
Mayfair was always like this. Too much money, too little truth.
“Nora?”
She turned.
Chris stood two paces behind her, a glass of whiskey in hand. Thirty-five, clad in a charcoal gray suit, platinum cufflinks glinting, his shirt pressed to perfection. Not unattractive—Eva had certainly seen less appealing—but his gaze was wrong.
That gaze was all too familiar. In one hundred and twenty-one missions, she had seen that look
