The ballroom was a tempest of blinding white light and deafening noise. Flashbulbs erupted in a relentless, staccato rhythm, capturing the exact moment the pristine facade of Elise Thorne and Simon Croft shattered into a million irredeemable pieces.

Reporters shouted

The kitchen of *L’Aura* was immaculate, the stainless steel countertops gleaming under the dim, ambient hum of the overhead track lighting. The dinner service had ended three hours ago, the last of the line cooks had scrubbed the stations, and the heavy oak doors of