The afternoon heat of Lagos rose from the concrete plazas below, but inside the executive residence, the air was cool, smelling faintly of salt and the fresh rain that had swept across the harbor an hour prior.
I stood before a tall, unadorned mirror in the dressing room, fastening the cuffs of a crisp, white linen shirt. There were no corporate pins on my lapels today, no heavy gold jewelry inherited from the Miller estate, and no tactical earpieces humming with midnight crisis alerts. On my left hand, the heavy platinum band Ethan had forged from the ruins of our old life caught the natural sunlight, throwing a sharp, bright glint against the pale wall.
The reflection looking back at me didn't look like the panicked heiress who had fled Seattle under a cloud of federal suspicion, nor d
