The River House awoke long before the sun breached the horizon. Thomas, ever the obedient driver, had bypassed the luxury hotel entirely the night before, delivering Galathea directly to the secluded property. Cael had remained at the penthouse, his paranoia momentarily appeased by the knowledge that Jadelyn was staying with her.
Downstairs, the heavy oak doors opened and closed with rhythmic efficiency. Florists hauled in cascades of white and deep crimson arrangements, their stems leaving an earthy scent against the sterile chill of the overworked air conditioning. Hair and makeup teams unzipped oversized canvas bags with loud, metallic rasps. Phones vibrated relentlessly against marble countertops, a constant, low-frequency hum vibrating through the floorboards.
