Nadia's Point Of View
The silk sheets of my bed felt like sandpaper against my skin. Twenty-one days had passed… three long, agonizing, pathetic week, since I'd stepped off that plane from Europe, expecting a queen's welcome. What had I received instead? Ice. Absolute, sub-zero, soul-crushing ice that left me feeling more alone than I'd ever been in my life.
I rolled over and released a muffled scream into my silk pillow, my legs kicking out in frustration. The gesture felt childish, but I didn't care. No one was watching. No one ever watched anymore. "It's not fair," I hissed, the sound echoing in the silent, overly expensive room that suddenly felt more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary.
"I am a Corvanni! My blood is literally the currency this city runs on, and they have me working as an intern? Doing coffee runs? Sorting through files that look like they haven't been touched since the Great Depression?"
