The rain was coming down in sheets by the time the limousine pulled up to the private executive entrance of Blackburn Tower on Wall Street. The sweltering summer heatwave had been completely replaced by a cold, gray monsoon that turned the city into a labyrinth of shadows.
Elena sat in the back seat, wearing a structured, high-collared navy dress that made her look every bit the billionaire's wife. Her hair was swept up into a tight, flawless bun, and her makeup was an absolute shield of high-society perfection. She had spent the two-hour ride memorizing the financial addendums Ethan’s legal team had pushed to her tablet. She knew her role. She was the secure, unbothered asset.
"Arthur’s office is on the sixty-fifth floor," Ethan said as the elevator glided upward with sickening speed. H
