The photographs hit the internet at 6:47 AM. I was still in my silk pajamas, nursing my first cup of coffee in the marble kitchen of our penthouse, when my phone erupted into a symphony of urgent ringtones. The PR team's emergency hotline. The family lawyer. Vincent's personal assistant. Even the housekeeper was calling—probably fielding calls from reporters already camping outside our building. My hands didn't shake as I swiped to answer the first call. They never did anymore. "Mrs. Müller, we