That evening, the penthouse apartment Clara shared with Julian smelled of expensive catered food and lies.

It was their fifth wedding anniversary.

"To us, darling," Julian said, raising a crystal flute of vintage champagne. He was dressed in a velvet smoking jacket, looking every inch

The heavy mahogany door to Victor Sterling’s office clicked shut, sealing Clara inside a room that smelled of old money, fresh espresso, and impending corporate bloodshed.

Victor was standing by the window, looking out over the Manhattan skyline. He didn’t turn around when she entered.

The morning sun sliced through the blinds of Victor Sterling’s office, casting harsh, geometric shadows across his desk. Clara sat opposite him, fully dressed in a sharp, tailored navy suit. She looked like a woman preparing for an execution.

She set the sterile glass vial on the desk.