The elevator doors glided open with a soft, melodic ping.
Aria stepped onto the imported Italian marble of the Sinclair Penthouse foyer. She walked into the sprawling living room.
The stage had already been meticulously set.
Diana was lounging on the massive white velvet sectional. Her heavily bandaged thigh was propped up on an embroidered silk pillow, and she was sipping a glass of sparkling water.
Standing dutifully beside the sofa was Bella.
Aria almost burst into laughter right then and there. Bella, who normally wouldn't be caught dead in anything less than skin-tight latex and designer logos, was wearing a suspiciously demure, beige cashmere cardigan buttoned all the way to her collarbone, paired with a sensible midi skirt and a pearl headband. She looked like a 1950s housewife applying for a job as a governess.
