Runaway Heiress: The Billionaire’s Forgotten Bride
a voice, dry as paper, said from her side.
Aurora did not flinch. She stood on the mezzanine, a dark, hidden balcony that overlooked the main floor. She was a shadow, her body encased in her uniform—a floor-length, high-collared, black tunic of her own design. Her chestnut bob was sharp enough to cut. Her sunglasses were on.
She was "Ariane Rousseau." And she was, as always, hidden.
"They are not animals, Elias," she said, her voice a low, cool, practiced monotone. "They are... customers."
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