"Richter tells her that her family's wealth is gone, and she is no longer a princess."
The words hung in the air of the luxury penthouse parlor, sharp and irreversible as a guillotine blade. Ghina stood frozen, her face drained of its usual vibrant, haughty glow. She looked around the room, at the gilded ceiling moldings, the imported velvet draperies, and the priceless artifacts that littered the tables. To her, they had always been the backdrop of her existence, the scenery that proved her superiority. Now, they were merely inventory in a house that no longer belonged to her bloodline.
Richter did not move. He stood near the balcony doors, a silhouette against the cold, artificial glow of the city lights outside. He felt no pity for her. Pity was a luxury for those who could afford
