The invasion wasn't a single event anymore. It wasn't just Sasha showing up for meetings or her face popping up on a video call. It became something in the air. It soaked into the penthouse, a slow, steady drip that changed the atmosphere.
Lucien started leaving his expensive tablet propped up on the white marble kitchen counter in the mornings. A video would be playing on a loop, the sound turned up just enough to hear. It was always Sasha. There she was, doing graceful sunrise yoga on a cliff edge, the ocean a blur behind her. There she was, on a stage somewhere, giving a passionate, teary-eyed speech about "authentic living" to a room full of people who watched her with rapt attention. There she was, in another pristine kitchen, laughing as she poured green powder and almond milk into
