ALEX THORNE
My phone buzzed against the table, cutting through the calm rhythm of breakfast. Madison was halfway through her pancakes, her hair still a mess and her eyes half-open, when I glanced at the screen. The caller ID flashed: Evelyn — PR Head.
Of course. I had expected her call.
I excused myself from the table with a clipped, "Take your time," and stepped onto the terrace, sliding the glass door shut behind me. The morning breeze carried the faint scent of coffee and jasmine — and the sound of Madison humming softly to herself in the dining room.
"Evelyn," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. "This better be important."
"It is," she replied briskly. "You and Madison are trending on every major outlet. The gala photos went viral overnight. Half the internet think
