Chapter 8

Lorenzo rented a luxury cabin just down the road from the sanctuary, The great Lorenzo Visconti, reduced to stalking the grounds like a ghost in his Zegna overcoat. I treated him like the mountain air- present but invisible. No amount of designer suits or desperate gazes could revive what had died in my

heart.

Everything changed when Dr. Marcus Chen, my colleague from Johns Hopkins, came for a research follow–up. We were laughing about residency horror stories when Lorenzo’s legendary control shattered. He launched himself at Marcus, Rolex flashing as he swung.

I stepped between them. “Get the hell out if you can’t behave. This is a medical facility, not your Wall Street playground.”

After Marcus made his uncomfortable exit, I rounded on Lorenzo. He caught my hand, his eyes holding

that dangerous intensity that once charmed boardrooms.

home, Sophia. Surely three years of exile is

timeout? Let me use smaller words: We. Are. Divorced. I. Don’t. Love.

MBA?”

Making your blind wife fetch your condoms – real classy, by the way. Those fireworks spelling her name? Not exactly subtle.”

permanent.”

famous Visconti composure crumble. Before I could say more, the click of

of every lie. So much for “getting rid of

doctor fantasy,” she sneered, before

boardroom mistress smile.

who we have here. Should I call security to remove some strays from the premises?”

hear her, Lorenzo? She’s calling us

backwoods healer-”

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