Emily stepped out of the car, her return to Italy marking the end of her Paris show. Dressed in a figure-hugging outfit that left little to the imagination, she was clearly prepared to reclaim Francisco’s attention.

Her long legs moved with practiced elegance, hips swaying with purpose. Every step down the hall was calculated, every glance aimed to captivate.

As she descended the stairs, a maid stepped into her path.

“Ma’am,” the maid said politely, “please don’t go to the ...