I washed, dressed in silence, and pinned my hair back with steady hands. Then I went downstairs, told the kitchen staff not to fuss, and poured myself coffee I barely touched. My body moved on habit alone. My heart was no longer in any of it.
By the time the eastern sky began to lighten, I was already on my way to the family offices downtown.
The city was only just waking. Black sedans rolled through wet streets. Men from our night crews were changing shifts outside the clubs and warehouses. Delivery trucks backed into secured docks. Street vendors were setting up beneath the gray morning sky, unaware that half the city’s underworld had spent the night whispering about the humiliation of the Ashbourne fiancée.
Everything looked the same.
Only I had changed.
I buried myself in work as soon as I arrived. Security reports from the southern route. Inventory numbers from the port. Accounts waiting for approval. Signatures, ledgers, shipments, coded messages. I kept my hands busy so my thoughts would stay quiet.
For the most part, they did.
Then, just before noon, word came that the consigliere wanted to see me.
I knew why before I even stepped into his office.