Nadia's Point Of View
The smartphone felt slick against my palm, its screen's glow the only illumination in the wreckage I'd made of the guest suite's living room. My chest remained tight, the phantom pressure of Azriel's fingers lingering like a brand on my skin. I could still hear the lethal click of that gun… a sound that echoed in my mind with crystalline clarity.
"I want to work in the company," I repeated, letting my voice drop into a register of fake earnestness that usually made Mom melt like butter in summer sun.
On the other end of the line, across an ocean in a world of high-tea and soft lace, my mother gasped. The sound was sharp and tiny, like a bird hitting a windowpane.
"What?!" Her voice rose with genuine shock. "But Nadia, darling... you have never been interested in the company. Not once. I thought you loved fashion more than anything. We spent all last spring in Milan specifically for your brand! What on earth happened between the airport and the estate?"
