Chapter 11

• The air in the opulent restaurant hung thick with the scent of expensive perfume and even more expensive wine. The clinking of crystal glasses, the murmur of hushed conversations, the soft strains of a jazz trio – all formed a backdrop to the meticulously crafted illusion of Julian Thorne's world. Cleo, dressed in a shimmering gown that felt both beautiful and suffocating, sat beside him, a carefully constructed smile plastered on her face. She felt utterly out of place, a stranger in a world of wealth and privilege that felt alien to her very soul. She observed the scene with a detached weariness, her thoughts drifting to Rowan, his presence a comforting warmth in the icy depths of her heart.
• Julian, oblivious to her inner turmoil, regaled his associates with boasts of his latest business ventures, his voice booming across the table, drowning out the quiet whispers around them. He exuded an air of arrogance, of untouchable power, that both repelled and fascinated Cleo. She found it increasingly difficult to maintain her smile and her composure. She could only hope that Rowan would be able to get to her in case things went wrong.
• Suddenly, a sharp crack shattered the illusion of tranquility. A single gunshot echoed through the restaurant, followed by a chorus of screams and the shattering of glass. Chaos erupted. The carefully constructed facade of sophistication crumbled, replaced by a maelstrom of fear and panic. People scrambled for cover, their elegant attire and composed demeanors replaced by expressions of pure terror. The soft jazz music was abruptly silenced, replaced by the cacophony of panicked shouts and the frantic thudding of feet against the polished marble floor.