Sylvia poured herself a glass of champagne, the golden liquid bubbling to the brim. She leaned against the balcony railing of her penthouse, staring out at the glittering city below. The lights stretched as far as the eye could see, a sea of gold and white, sparkling like the jewels she often stole.
Behind her, on a small marble table, her phone screen glowed with a notification—her offshore account balance.
$170 million.
Untouched. Untraceable.
Her share, after giving Marcus his cut, sat at $120 million. A fortune. A number that should have sent a thrill through her veins.
But Sylvia felt nothing.
Inside, the penthouse was a picture of luxury—velvet furniture, crystal chandeliers, an art collection that could rival a gallery. Every detail screamed wealth and comfort. And yet, tonigh
