The clink of porcelain echoed softly through the opulent compound of Marie. Morning light slanted through the gold-rimmed windows, catching the shimmer of Clara’s Cartier bracelet as she stirred her espresso with meticulous calm.
Across from her, Juliette and Sabine sat in quiet formation—designer handbags perched like sentinels on adjacent chairs, expressions polished to perfection.
Marie was not invited. That had been intentional.
“She looked radiant at brunch,” Juliette began, flipping through her planner as a formality. “But something’s shifted. You can see it.”
Clara smirked over her cup. “Changed… or settled?”
Sabine lowered her sunglasses, voice dripping with feigned sympathy. “She’s living with *Francis* now. The doorman. It’s a downgrade, no matter how she frames it.”
Their
