morning chill. Less than six hours after accepting Damien Laurent's proposition, she found herself here-ano

clear. Fittings. Wa

d slowly and s

draped in garments of impossible beauty. Seamstresses moved with silent efficiency. And at t

wrapped around her like velvet. "I am Marc Delacroix. Mo

. Racks of garments lined the walls-couture, of course, not

tinued, pulling several gowns from the collection

e stiffened. O

over her skin-silk, velvet, cashmere. No detail spared. Each selection cra

vening gown, Camille caught

er place stood the future fiancée of

ath the wariness, something else stirred. A f

Camille was stepping into a

e stood once again be

gleamed beneath a cold winter sun. Camille ent

ed in a charcoal suit, crisp shirt open at the collar.

ted," he remarke

e. "You arrange

. "And appearances matter. Our first

linked. "

"Time, Mademoiselle Aragon, is the one

spread of delicate amuse-bouches. Tea service. The civility

her legs gracefully,

he began, "will follow

ille. I expect discretion, intelligence, and presence. In return, I of

o mistake-this is not merely a performance. The media, o

ened. "And your enem

s why you, of all people, intrigue m

m read too deeply. "Flattery, Monsieur

each his eyes. "I prefer a

between them, layered

id six months. And afterward, my

n-negotiable. You will have written

ingers rested light

I choose to end the a

r thoughtfully. "Then you walk a

ead slightly. "

a brow. "So sur

said softly.

ed exterior, there was something else-something watchful, almost predat

lse in the air

not simply a contract to be fulfilled. It was

-

apartment, Camille unrolled the l

ages. I

ality clauses. Appearance stipulations

l language, the unspoke

. It was a battlefield-political, financial, and darker still. And b

ad her ow

ot only for the power this

te web that had led to her brother Mateo's death. T

rent might

waited long en

-

, her phone buzzed-a

first test c

ls. No l

smiled

be

a singl

ways