Chapter 92

• The champagne flute tilted in Johanna’s hand, the golden bubbles climbing lazy and slow, catching the morning light that streamed across her penthouse windows. She didn’t drink it. She only watched it.. watched the way power looked when it sparkled.
• On the glass coffee table in front of her lay the morning tabloids, each one blaring her carefully placed narrative. Bold black headlines screamed across glossy paper:
• “Lucia Graham: Fraud Bride?”