ra's

work, in the private design studio attached to the manor. The fai

an unfamiliar N

ional voice said. "This is Vera Wang's

d. "A de

As per Mr. Harris's explicit instructions, the piece was

emotional context vanished, repla

. "I never made such a request. And

, my address was

ress?" I asked, a knot of

eridge Road," the

rd, my heart hammering again

rent fixer, and the only person on my payroll w

the property at 8 P

the property is a villa. The blueprints are identic

a final, clarifying data point. He wasn't j

edding dress. My design. My sou

st cheating. I

"Paige," I said, my voice deadly calm.

our grim-faced men, bodyguards loyal to the M

o a high, severe ponytail. I caught my reflection in the floor-length mirror-a str

a double-take, and let out a low whistle. "Ma'am

h the afternoon streets, h

al. It was my home. The same white facade, the same manicured g

ect re

the gate's intercom.

lock bypassed in under thirty s

mirror image. The same furniture, the same art

built for my

e second floor. Jasmine's voi

lick of my heels on the marble echoi

e landing, jus

ed from the m

s wear

ight' gown

to her frame, and a smug, sati

sa

insolent triumph. She even had the audacity to lift the hem of the ski

t this woman, wearing my

s-the lies, the violence, the contempt-

ead across my face. My eye