“Tell the chef I said no saffron today. It bloats me.”

Adele doesn’t even glance at the housekeeper. She lies across the center couch of Reo’s villa, and her bare legs stretch along the cushions while one perfectly manicured hand lifts a crystal glass of fruit water like she’s holding a royal scepter.

She scrolls through her phone with lazy arrogance, and her lips curl into that cruelly pretty smile she saves for people she thinks are beneath her. And in Adele’s mind, that’s everyone.

A masseuse kneels beside her footrest and works on her ankle like the woman’s whole career depends on Adele’s temporary satisfaction. The TV plays in...