The room was dark. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the afternoon sun and the paparazzi who were undoubtedly camped out on the front lawn.
Bastian lay in the center of the massive king-sized bed. He had finally stopped shaking. The beta-blocker had done its job, slowing his heart from a frantic bird-flutter to a steady, heavy thud. But the medicine came with a cost. It made him feel like he was moving through wet cement.
He hated it.
He hated being horizontal while his life was on fire.
He tried to push himself up on his elbows. His arms trembled like jelly.
"Don't even think about it," a voice said from the shadows.
Anaïs was sitting in a plush armchair in the corner. She had her laptop open, the screen's blue light illuminating her tired face. She didn't look up as she typed.
"I need to call Ken," Bastian croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper. "I need to check the stock price."
