POV : Maxwell
The penthouse suite of the Four Seasons was big, an opulent cavern entirely covered in white marble and gold fixtures. It cost ten thousand dollars a night, a sum that wouldn't even register as a rounding error in my bank accounts. It was designed to make its occupant feel like a king, standing above the rest of the world. But as I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the intense thunderstorm tearing through Paris, it felt exactly like a gilded prison cell.
"Maxwell, darling, are you even listening to me?"
The voice grated against my eardrums like dragging metal. I didn't turn around. I kept my eyes locked on the dark, rain-soaked streets far below, watching the headlights of tiny cars blur in the deluge.
"No, Camilla," I replied, my voice hollow. "I'
