“What are you doing in here? This wing is off-limits to the staff.”

The voice was cold, high-pitched, and dripping with a poison I had come to recognize all too well. I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. Standing in the doorway of the West Wing’s dusty corridor was Emelia Aldridge. She looked like a marble statue in her ivory power suit, her eyes scanning the cobwebs on the ceiling with visible disgust.

“I’m not the staff, Emelia,” I replied, forcing my shoulders to stay down. I adjusted the silk scarf around my neck, making sure it hid the faint bruise from my run-in with Lucian’s flying glassware....