The interior of the plane was all cream leather and polished mahogany.

Blake sat across from me, staring out the window as the plane lifted into the dark sky.

He didn’t speak for the entire flight.

When we landed at Teterboro, a town car was waiting on the tarmac.

The city was cold, the streets of Manhattan gleaming under the streetlights.

We drove toward Park Avenue.

The Harrington penthouse occupied the top two floors of a historic pre-war building.

We rode the elevator up in silence.

When the doors opened, the sound of classical music drifted from the living room.

Helena was sitting on a cream velvet sofa, a glass of red wine in her hand.

She looked up as we entered.

Her eyes widened slightly when she saw me standing next to Blake, but her expression smoothed out instantly.

“Blake, darling,” she said, rising gracefully. “I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow.”

She looked at me, her smile turning ice-cold.

“And you brought company,” she said. “I thought we settled your business years ago, Emma.”

Blake took the folder from his coat.