POV: Alexander
The air in the Hamptons was too clean. It lacked the grit of Manhattan, the smell of ambition and exhaust that Alexander usually required to feel tethered to the world. Here, at the Sterling estate, everything was manicured, filtered, and relentlessly polite.
Alexander stood on the wrap-around porch, a glass of vintage Scotch in his hand, watching the moon reflect off the Atlantic. Behind him, the sounds of a high-end gala hummed through the glass doors—the tinkling of crystal, the practiced laughter of the 0.1%, and the low, melodic voice of Julianna Sterling as she navigated the room.
It had been six months since the night at the hotel. One hundred and eighty-two days since he had authorized the payout to a girl whose name he shouldn't remember.
Constraint: Focus.
"Yo
