Matthew emerged from the study looking every bit like the polished corporate king he prided on being, clad in a navy suit, crisp white shirt, the faintest hint of cologne that cost more than some people’s rent. His hair was slicked back, his cufflinks gleaming under the chandelier light. When his eyes met mine, he smiled in that way that made my skin crawl, the smile of a man who believed he owned everything he saw.

“You look like a true Wellington,” he said, spinning me around with an ...