Chapter 39 Vivienne Leaves

• The villa perched above Lake Geneva like a secret in plain sight: glass walls, Scandinavian wood, the silence of wealth pretending to be nature. Inside, the world was suspended.
• Dorian lay on a modular bed framed by white linen and wire monitors, shirtless beneath the bandage cinched to his ribs. His breath was shallow but steady, his eyes closed but never fully relaxed. Not anymore.
• Isolde watched from the doorway, arms crossed tight. She hadn’t changed out of her clothes from the escape of blood-spotted sleeves, mud-drenched boots. Her body had made it out of Velvet. Her mind hadn’t.