Late night alone

Lady Bianca sat at the edge of the bed, her robe hanging off one shoulder, the room around her a blur of cold, expensive quiet. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in only a sliver of morning light that cut across the marble floor like a wound. Her eyes were red, her mascara streaked down her cheeks.

The television in front of her was muted, showing the same footage over and over — black smoke billowing from what was once her boutique. Firefighters, ash, chaos.

She ...