The Price of Public Mercy

The elevator ride to the penthouse was a vertical descent into a different kind of hell. Elena stood in the corner, her fingers pressed so hard into the silk of her skirt that her knuckles were bone-white. Beside her, Julian Thorne didn't look at her; he stared at the reflected city lights in the brushed-steel doors, his profile as sharp and unyielding as the architectural steel of the hotel itself.

"The board is already whispering, Elena," he said, his voice a low, melodic threat. "By

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