The Impossible Mandate
Adrian stood motionless as Mrs. Devereux finally released her grip on the conversation, already dialling her personal stylist with a triumphant look in her eye. His heart was no longer racing; it was cold and heavy in his chest.
Adrienne must be there.
He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, what Alexander's silent decision would be. There was no real Adrienne returning from a business trip. There was only the meticulously constructed façade, and he was the only one who fit the role— he was Adrienne.
He moved on autopilot, retrieving the contact information for Mrs. Devereux's stylist—a woman named Felicity—from the contact list and handing the phone over.
"I'll take the logistics from here, Ma'am," Adrian said, his voice flat. "I'll arrange for the gowns to be delivered to the residence for fittings, and I will handle the necessary adjustments to the guest list and vendor confirmations for the dinner."
