After the gala was still going on, the lights dazzling and the music humming through the hall, George’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, glanced at the screen, and his lips parted slightly.

A message from Rosy.

Rosy: George, please can we talk? I’m in your mansion.

His jaw tightened.

For a second, he just stared at the message, the noise around him fading. Then he looked up to see Thalia was laughing softly, surrounded by businessmen and women, her glass of ...