Lisbon was kind to her. Too kind, almost.

The sun rose softly over the terracotta rooftops, the sound of waves humming beneath the cliffs, the air carrying the faint scent of citrus and ocean salt. It was a world away from New York’s chaos, from flashing cameras and headlines and betrayal.

And yet, even surrounded by beauty, Amara couldn’t sleep.

It had been nearly three months since she’d landed here under a new name — Mara Collins. Three months of silence. Three months of pretending that peace didn’t ache as much as heartbreak.

Her small apartment overlooked the river. It was modest — a far cry from the penthouse suites...