Chapter 1: The Departure Lounge
I used to think that my life would end in silence—a quiet, lonely fade in the corner of a grand house that had become my gilded cage. I never imagined it would shatter in the most public place on Earth, under the cold, unblinking eyes of a thousand cameras and the high-definition glare of the noon sun.
The International Airport Terminal was a cathedral of glass and steel. It smelled of jet fuel, expensive roasted espresso, and the electric, copper hum of raw ambition. Massive banners for the Global Partnership Summit fluttered in the air-conditioned breeze, their silver letters catching the light like blades. They promised a future of boundless prosperity, but as I stood there, clutching a manila folder to my chest, all I felt was the crushing weight of a past that refused to let me breathe.
At the center of this polished universe stood Damian Cross.
My husband.
At thirty-nine, Damian was the founder of Cross Holdings, a man who wore power like a second skin. His navy suit was tailored so perfectly it looked like armor, and his posture was rigid with the effortless arrogance of someone who expected the world to tilt on its axis just to suit him. He was surrounded by a phalanx of assistants, publicists, and sycophants, all of them orbiting his gravitational pull like mindless moons.
