Eleanor stepped onto the rain-slicked Champs-Élysées, the gray afternoon pressing down like a shroud, hospital's fluorescent pallor still clinging to her skin.
The taxi ride blurred in a haze of replayed humiliations but she shoved it aside, focusing on the penthouse's familiar bulk rising ahead.
Home? It felt more like a mausoleum now, echoes of six years. The doorman nodded solemnly, elevator ascending in hushed efficiency, but the mirrored walls reflected a woman hardened.
The foyer welcomed with cool marble and silence, the air conditioned to indifference. Eleanor kicked off her heels, padding to the kitchen in stocking feet, the city's hum muted beyond floor-to-ceiling windows.
Exhaustion gnawed, compounded by the day's toll. she needed fuel, something to steady the tremble in
