Fiona sat at her desk like a woman who had been hollowed out and then carefully propped back up so no one would notice.
The screen had gone to sleep ten minutes ago. The Voss Éclat logo stared back at her in soft gray, a mocking little reminder of everything she was trying to hold together. Her hands rested on the keyboard fingers curled, unmoving.
She couldn't stop seeing it.
Katherine Thorne.
Platinum hair catching every light in the lobby like it had been spun from money. Red lipstick so perfect it looked painted on. That dress deep burgundy silk, clinging to hips and waist and breasts like it had been sewn directly onto her body. The way she'd draped herself on Martin's arm casual, possessive, effortless. The way she'd tilted her head back to laugh at something he said, throat exposed, eyes sparkling like she'd already won. The way she'd leaned in, pressed those glossy lips to his cheek in a kiss that looked innocent to everyone else but felt like a public execution to Fiona.
