Aria

A knock echoed through the suite just as I finished fixing my hair. I paused, glancing toward the door, a flicker of suspicion tightening my chest.

I wasn’t expecting anyone.

My phone buzzed on the dresser. A text lit up the screen: Assistant arriving now, Mark.

Right. The assistant.

I exhaled and pulled the door open.

Standing there was a young woman, barely older than me, dressed in a neat blazer and jeans, her hair tied in a sleek ponytail. She gave me a quick, professional ...