Gustave Mackenzie's POV
Disorder irritates me. Not the obvious kind—that's easy to fix—but the dangerous kind: the kind that shouldn't exist… like her.
I rest my hands on the marble sink. Everything is in its place: the immaculate sweater, the perfectly styled hair, the Rolex perfectly adjusted to my wrist. Absolute control. On the outside.
On the inside, however, my jaw clenches. It was a logistical error, nothing more: a swapped suitcase, a delay as simple as it was absurd… and a woman who can't keep her composure. Bianca Harrison.
Even her name sounds light, harmless, like a sigh. But something tells me it isn't.
"If my presence isn't inconvenient for some of you," she says with a self-important tone.
She isn't inconvenient to me. She's just a crazy goat who slapped me.
Th
