The master suite of the Richason estate was an oppressive monument to cold luxury. Double doors of heavy mahogany opened into a vast, high-ceilinged space lined with dark silk wallpaper and minimalist Italian marble columns. Shadows stretched long and sharp across the floorboards as the late-evening sun dipped beneath the Manhattan skyline, leaving the room illuminated only by the sterile, blue glow of the automated cityscape outside.
Nielle stood before the floor-to-ceiling glass panel, her back to the room. She had shed her structured corporate blazer, now wearing only a slip dress of emerald satin that cascaded elegantly to her feet. The multi-million dollar diamond on her left hand caught the ambient light, casting tiny, fractured reflections across the glass. She was staring at her o
