The gilded cage of the Helwart mansion was silent that night, a stark contrast to the echoing grandeur of Kairo's ballroom. Linsy moved through the familiar rooms like a ghost, the emerald gown she had so carefully hung in her closet seeming to mock her with its memory of fleeting solidarity. The fabric still held the faint scent of Michael's cologne, a spicy, masculine echo that made her heart constrict.

In her pristine bathroom, she methodically removed her makeup, watching the sophisticated ...