“You’ve got to come to this private gathering,” he said. “It’s nothing formal. Just powerful people, relaxed setting. You need the break.”

Damien almost said no. But exhaustion wore down his defenses, and curiosity won.

That night, inside a villa lined with chandeliers and champagne, Damien felt like a misfit in someone else’s dream.

Until he met her.

Élise Montel.

She stood out not because of her age — she was 71 — but because of her presence. Elegant, magnetic, and terrifyingly composed. She didn’t just walk into a room; she took ownership of the air in it.

They only spoke briefly. Her words were precise, her gaze unreadable. But as she left, something about her lingered.

Three days later, she called